Times Argus 15-16

The story
Nobodys perfect, right? We all make

mistakes. I just never thought that you
were a mistake.
I thought I knew the real reason you left,
why you walked out of my life without
even a goodbye.
I thought I knew the answer, but I guess I
was wrong, because now I know the truth,
and now I wish I knew nothing.
Because knowing the truth is killing me.
I feel like I am being ripped apart by your
words, those damn words you wrote in
that damn letter.
Why did you write it? Why did you think
I needed to know?
Did you think it would help me get over
you, because nothing will let me do that.
I could never get over those eyes, or that
smile, or the way you made everything
look so beautiful.
I know you will never hear this, but it
feels good to say it.
Even if Im just screaming at nothing.
Now Im wondering where you are now;
maybe youre alone at a bus stop,
waiting to go anywhere and nowhere.
Or maybe youre there with them, doing
god knows what. It hurts me to think
youre doing that, to think that you left
me for that. I guess what they say is true.
Ignorance is bliss.
THIS WEEK: General writing

Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions from students across Vermont, New Hampshire
and beyond. A team of staff, mentors and students
selects work for publication. This week, we present
responses to the challenges for General writing in
any genre. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a
safe, civil online community.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP
Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve
and connects them with authentic
audiences in newspapers, before live
audiences and on web sites, youngwritersproject.org, vpr.net, vtdigger.
org, and cowbird.com. YWP also
publishes The Voice, a monthly digital magazine with YWPs best writing, images and features. To learn
more, go to youngwritersproject.org
or contact YWP at (802) 324-9537.
YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses

and individuals who recognize the
power and value of writing. If you
would like to contribute, please go
to youngwritersproject.org/support,
or mail your donation to YWP, 47
Maple Street, Suite 106, Burlington,
VT 05401.
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PHOTO OF THE WEEK
-NORA DILLON, MONTPELIER
Imagine fire
Fire. Thats all my young eyes can
see. The colors of red, orange and yellow
roaring above me. The flames spread and
consume anything they come into direct
contact with, even my skin.
The pain is unbearable. It feels as if
something is tearing me limb from limb
and making sure it is as painful and slow
as possible. The seconds tick by as the
fire climbs up my body, burning me alive.
The fire touches my hair, and my hair
becomes singed, and my skin feels as if it
will melt off my bones any second.
Not even the salty water drops falling
from my irises can tame this raging flame
that is like a feral beast.
I can no longer do anything but watch
the flames rage and roar as they loom
over my small figure. I feel my vision
beginning to blur as I am seconds away
from my demise, caused by the beast
called fire. I close my eyes and wait for
the pain to subside as I depart for the
next life while the fire licks away at my
almost charred body. Fire is my fear and
my grave.
- HOLLIE-NICHOLLE DAVIS, NORTHFIELD
Dance of light
There once was a quilt that bore the
weight of life;
he kept all from misery and strife.
But when the day faded into dusk,
he was vulnerable to the setting sun,
for the burning fire in its heart
could light his strings and make a spark.
He would be forced to thrash about to put
out the flames,
but the quilt of life would have to be
unravelled with its strings of time strewn
across the land.
There once was a sun, lonely and in
despair.
She desired a friend to talk with and
share,
but the only man in sight was the great
quilt of life,
who would only burn in her rising flames.
So she would cry and leave the rest to
swim in blame.
But a golden star had an idea bright as his
coat
to make her a partner immune to her
heart.
And in the night they worked under the
stars,
and succeeded in making her a love as
warm as her own.
There once was a dance of mirrors and
light,
a dance for the quilt, the love, and his
wife.
Now the three faithful friends leap under
the stars,
thankful to a golden one who stood in
much awe.
The black of night was painted by their
joy of heart
because they knew what others didnt,
that they could rule together.
- MARYAM ISABEL SARAFZADE,
MONTPELIER
Kevin Huang, Burlington
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Deer in headlights
THIS WEEK: Anthology 8
What if were wrong

about deer in headlights?
What if they dont freeze because of the
light
or because theyre too dumb
to move out of oncoming traffic?
What if, just maybe,
they want you to hit them?
Each year, Young Writers Project publishes an anthology of the best writing and photography submitted to
youngwritersproject.org. A team of staff, mentors and
students makes selections from thousands of submissions. This week, we present some of the local writers
who are featured in the anthology. For copies of the
anthology, go to youngwritersproject.org/anthology8.
Does anyone ask if, for that single second in which they realize
that they are facing death,
they are taking stock,
thinking about life,
about struggle and loss and heartbreak
and triumph and joy,
about death and suffering and pain and
how hard it can be
just to get through one day,
about the impact, the fall, the crash,
the rattle of the last breath escaping
their lungs,
about the peace that would settle over
the scene
when their eyes closed for the
very
last
time?
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PHOTO OF THE WEEK
The lights shine brightly in their eyes

and illuminate
a lifetime of fighting for a happy ending
that just might not exist.
The reflection off the pavement and
those never-ending lines
gets brighter and brighter.
The engines purr,
maybe the jarring screech of a horn or
the awful grinding of brakes
comes upon them all too fast,
and yet still not fast enough to make the
decision for them.
And then, what if they think, no one has
to see me jump
but what if I just dont move out of the
way?
- EMILY COLLINS, PEACHAM
READ MORE
GREAT WRITING AT
YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
Anthology 8 cover photo by Bryan Storck, Essex Junction, VT
Immortality
Did you know? Gwyneth started,
greatly exaggerating her speech, that if
you take a peach, dip it in pizza sauce,
pickle it, slice it into five unequal sections, then feed the rest to a cod, kill it,
cook the cod with some chips, and eat it,
it will give you immortality?
What? David asked.
I said that if you take a peach, dip it in
pizza sau Gwyneth started to say, but
was quickly cut off by David.
I got that much.
Oh. Do you want to try it? Gwyneth
inquired.
No! Why would I? David bellowed
back at her.
Because it gives you immortality,
she answered, making it sound obvious.
Wouldnt it take forever to make, with
the pickling and what-not? David asked.
It does, so I made it in advance, Gwyneth replied, smiling, and she pulled out
a dark brown suitcase with yellow metal
clips. She put it on the table and placed
her hands on each clip, flipping them up
one by one, for dramatic effect.
And, she said, opening the case,
there it is.
Oh, my, David said, looking away
and trying not to gag from the smell.
Why would you make that!? he
asked in astonishment.
Because it gives you immortality,
she stated, putting a plastic fork into it.
You dont seriously think that, David
said.
I do, Gwyneth replied, taking a bite
and swallowing hard to avoid tasting it.
Try it, she said, hoping David didnt
notice her eyes watering.
Im wont, he replied.
A lost chance to become a god, Gwyneth said, taking another bite.
(Disclaimer: This obviously does not
work.)
- MAXAM DANIELS, EAST MONTPELIER
Sit
Someone touches my back.
The click of high-heeled shoes against the
ground
resonates through my bones.
A woman floats upon the ghosts
stacked up past the sky.
There is a man who smokes a pipe
who must have died years ago
sitting on a construction worker
who sits on a little girl with a lollipop.
There are sewage men,
lovers and romantics,
poets and chefs,
acrobats and con artists
sitting, stacked up
one on top of another.
A man in an overcoat
who will be shot in 36 days
sits with a newspaper next to the woman.
The woman gets up, and the dead man
leans against her ghost.
In five minutes that man will get up,
moved by some unknown purpose,
and his ghost will lean on the womans
ghost,
who will be sat upon by the next lonely,
tired stranger, and the next.
I just sit.
- SYLVAN WILLIAMS, MIDDLESEX
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The other side

I have secrets. We all do. Mine is
probably more unique and particular than
yours; not to brag or anything, but its
true. About three years ago, my family bought a house out in a dense forest.
We had an old-style well; it was a cute
addition to the house, but we never really
cared for it.
My younger sister believed that you
could make wishes in the well and
claimed to have seen a girl look back at
her from under the water. I always knew
it was her reflection, but she firmly believed it was someone else, someone from
the other side, as she would say.
One day I had a really bad day at
school; I cant recall what happened but
I had come home in tears. I felt I had no
one and nothing to help me.
I remember looking out my window
and seeing the old well with round stones
and a steel pail. I grabbed a coin from
my purse and sprinted out to the wishing
well. I leaned over the side of the well
and looked deeply in, whispered a wish
that would stop the bullies, and dropped
my rusty old penny into the dark, cloudy
water at the bottom. I stared into the rippling water where my penny disappeared,
when a girl looked back at me from the
other side of the waters surface.
She looked like me but wasnt my
reflection. I could see her breathing, her
being, like my opposite, my other self. I
saw my penny in her hand where she held
it close to her heart and smiled. A strange
magic left her fist, where my penny was
supposed to be, in little flecks of royal
blue.
That night I slept soundly with dreams
of a royal-blue world with royal-blue
flowers disintegrating into little royalblue flecks. Thats all I remember. And
the next day, all my problems had left me.
THIS WEEK: Wishes

and beyond. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This
week, we present responses to Wishes: You come upon
a wishing well. What magic happens at the bottom of a
wishing well? More at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
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Maple St., Suite 106, Burlington,
VT 05401.

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PHOTO OF THE WEEK
- MARYAM ISABEL SARAFZADE, MONTPELIER
Magic marketing ploy

A wishing well is not a place to go to get wishes granted, contrary to popular belief.
It is just a marketing ploy, and as you can see, it definitely works. I mean, have you
seen how much money gets tossed away down them? Its absurd!
Honestly, its not fair to the other wish-granting creatures out there. The wishing
wells cant even grant wishes; I read that in The New York Times.
We fairies dont charge; Santa doesnt make you pay for his gifts, so why should
you pay for something that doesnt even work?
It just isnt fair! Theyre cheating us! Im just trying to make the world a better
place without trying to monopolize it!
- TYRUS ROSTEN, GROTON
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Wish granted
I was hiking up a big mountain for
about 30 minutes when I finally came to
the top.
The weird thing was that there was a
creepy wishing well in the middle of a
small clearing.
I walked around it, checking for anything strange, but it was all clear.
Just for fun, I reached in my pocket
and pulled out a quarter.
I closed my eyes and wished for no
school and flipped the coin up and into
the top. It fell down with a splash.
Suddenly, a big, blue genie appeared
and said, Wish granted.
When I blinked, I was home eating
supper. I had no idea what had just happened, but I decided to keep my mouth
shut. I quickly finished my supper and
went to bed.
The next morning, my mom came in
and said, Schools canceled!
They said something about the day
being too sunny.
I remember thinking genies have a
sense of humor.
- BEN MATTERN, TUNBRIDGE
READ
MORE GREAT WRITING
AT
youngwritersproject.org
Waking in paradise
I awoke to the sound of the ocean waves
lapping against the shore,
the soothing sound on replay.
I awoke to the scent of the salty air
filling my lungs,
inviting me to walk the sandy path.
I awoke to the cool morning fog
that hides the ocean from view.
The sun came out.
The fog disappeared.
The sound of the waves got louder.
And there was the most brilliant blue Id
ever seen.
The beach was bare;
the sand untouched,
except for one perfect pair of footprints
leading to the waters edge.
I awoke to paradise.
- ZOIE BEAUREGARD, EAST MONTPELIER
Puppy love
Young and full of energy.
Running, exploring,
chewing on anything that is within reach.
Learning tricks and potty training;
messes to clean up.
Tail wagging fast as lightning.
Never-ending happiness
exuding from his panting.
Slobber on your face,
gross as it might be,
is the only sign of love
he can give you.
Pet him.
Feed him.
Love him.
Because youre all
hes ever loved.
THIS WEEK: General, Blue, Awake

and beyond. This week, we present responses to the
prompts, General writing; Blue: Use the phrase, it
was the most brilliant shade of blue; & Awake: I
awoke to the sound... Use this phrase in a story or
poem. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
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PHOTO OF THE WEEK
- CAYLEIGH OCONNELL, CORINTH
You blue?
Caleb Dudley, Essex Junction
I awoke to the sound of blue.

What is the sound of blue?
Its the most sorrowful sound, the most
desperate look.
I put on my glasses to see blue,
only blue,
blue cats,
blue dogs,
blue everything.
And thats how I like it.
Maybe wondering, why blue?
But then...
why you?
- OLGA KISSNER, EAST MONTPELIER
Shades of blue
The diamond was the most brilliant
shade of blue I had ever seen. It sparkled
like water running through a grove of
soaring trees. After placing it on the altar,
the people around me knelt on the hard
packed dirt of the temple, praying to the
Great Spirit which used the magnificent
gem as a host.
As soon as the host was placed on the
altar, plants sprang up from the earth that
had been unable to yield plants for many
years.
Breathtakingly tall trees grew until
they disappeared into the clouds and animals of all shapes and sizes inhabited it.
While all this was happening, the people rejoiced, bringing out their valuables,
carved from metal ores and ivory tusks, to
give to the Great Spirit.
I then looked up at the sky as the rain
started to fall.
- GREYSON DAVIS, EAST MONTPELIER
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& THE VOICE
Forever Tree
THIS WEEK: Before
I would never tell Pa this, but Im not

too fond of farming. I know he wouldnt
be happy to hear this as he believes farmers are the foundation of this country.
And, of course, 1917 is a big agricultural
year.
But since my brother left to fight in
this world war, Ive been doing all the
farming with Pa, and it isnt all that Ive
dreamed of. I used to hate working inside
with Ma. All she ever did was complain
about women and voting, always just having to cook or clean or sew, but working
outside, Ive learned, isnt too much fun
either. Life is slow these days, and thats
why I like coming out here, writing in my
journal, and thinking about things.
This tree that I come to has been here
ITS THE TALLEST PINE TREE

IVE SEEN IN MY LIFE PROBABLY ONE OF THE TALLEST IN
ALL OF VERMONT.
for as long as I can remember. I come
here every night to draw pictures, to write
stories, to think, to climb.
Ive never known a better place. Its
definitely my favorite. Its the tallest pine
tree Ive seen in my life probably one of
the tallest in all of Vermont. Its limbs are
gigantic, perfect for sitting or climbing.
Its like a playground made of wood, and
its just across the meadow from my very
own home. I know how lucky I am to
have a place like this. Id like to imagine
that it will be here forever, but I know
one day it will be cut down. Pa tried last
summer, but I was not going to let that
happen.
I remember him coming out here with
his ax. He always wanted the tree gone.
He thought it took up too much space,
that it was just an eyesore. He didnt
know the value it had for me or my
brother, how many times I walked out
here and ducked under the barbed wire
fence just to climb it.
I looked out the window that day and
saw that Pa was already so close to the
tree that I thought he would have the ax
in its trunk by the time I reached him. But
I sprinted behind him through the heat
in my best dress, too. I got to him and
grabbed the ax before he had the chance
to swing it back. Pa was angry, madder
than Id ever seen him.
We fought for so long out there. Finally, I jumped up to one of its limbs, and
I climbed as high as I could. I stood in
that tree until dark when Pa finally went
(continued>)
and beyond. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This
week, we present responses to the challenge, Before:
Imagine one of your favorite places 100 or 200 years
ago. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
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ROUNDTABLE
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Madi Cohen, Bolton
inside to eat. I wasnt hungry, though. I

couldve stayed there forever.
When I got inside, both my parents
had a storm waiting for me. Ma was so
torn that Id gone against Pa like that, and
that I had ruined my dress. Pa, well, he
was just angry about everything. I knew
how mad they were; I knew what I did
was against everything my parents had
taught me, but I still knew in my mind
that it was worth the fighting. That tree
was going to stay there as long as I could
make it stay there, maybe even as long
as I lived. That was something I wished
for, but I knew I couldnt have a handle
on everything. Some of my best paintings were made here, as well as my best
stories. Some of my favorite memories

took place here, and thats why it has so
much meaning.
I sometimes imagine 90 or 100 years
from now, another girl will live here and
fall in love with this tree. She wont know
what it meant to a 14-year-old farm girl
from 1917, but maybe she will make
memories here of her own. Or maybe
the tree will be gone by then, only a few
memories left for people to enjoy.
But I know one thing for sure, this tree
will always hold memories, this tree will
always mean something to someone.
- EMI VAUGHAN, THETFORD
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Trees
In the beginning, there were trees.
Thats how it always begins, right?
With the trees.
Conifer and deciduous,
oak or pine or maybe some birch.
But not anymore.
Hundreds of years ago, yes,
they were there.
I imagine crab apples lined the stream.
I hear the water babbling over smooth
stones,
marshy grass, muddy feet of children,
the first generation to be born
into the New World.
I imagine when autumns blaze began,
the apples plopped into the brook on occasion,
crafting a sweet, fermented smell.
The tall maples caught fire with color,
amber and brick-red.
The beech bled russet and gold.
The birch, as well.
And the pines would have stood strong,
unconcerned by the frosty mornings and
chilled breeze.
But that was ages ago.
I can only imagine the trees
by the now-brown trickle of water,
littered with Coke cans
and Wal-Mart bags.
The trees are gone.
And at the end of Earths life,
the trees are gone.
In their place, is my favorite place:
Discounts like you wouldnt believe;
prices so low, it makes you look twice!
Old Navy.
- CHRISTIAN BOLDING, NORTHFIELD
Music
Music, the only weapon I need.
- FRANCES KAPLAN, EAST MONTPELIER
Seuss on the loose

If you are alone, at home, and extremely
bored
and you think that you just might go out
of your gourd,
I, Fred, the pufffluff, have the solution for
you.
Lets do a dance to the good ol kazoo!
Theres a hop and a step and a spin all
around
with a jump and a leap till you fall on the
ground.
Oh, are you tired? No, no, wait theres
more!
There are so many tricks that I have in
store!
We could dance on our feet, or our hands,
or our heads
or our toeses or noses or jump on our
beds.
But if youre still bored, oh, theres lots
more to do.
When you are with me, theres no need to
feel blue.
For the word pufffluff has three fs in a
row!
Now heres a new word that you just did
not know.
You look pretty tired, Im sorry, its true!
I, Dr. Fred, say that you have the flu!
Well, I guess I must run.
The flu is no fun!
And fun is the funnest, the bestest, you
know?
For when you have fun, you light up with
a glow!
So, see ya, my friends; it was a good day.
But I guess that Id better be off on my
way.
So long, dear friends; I will be back soon.
And next time, Ill remember to bring
some balloons!
THIS WEEK: Seuss & Six Words

Each week, Young Writers Project receives several
hundred submissions from students across Vermont,
New Hampshire and beyond. This week, we present
responses to the writing challenges, Seuss: Write in
rhyme like Dr. Seuss; & Six Words: Write a story
in six words. Go to youngwritersproject.org to read
more great writing.
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PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Breanna Johnson, Shrewsbury
- REILLY UITERWYK, CANAAN
He who has frizz

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The hair on his head might not be real,

though his ignorance surely is.
Who could trust all that faux frizz upon his?
He wants to build a wall,
but you soon will see
its not good for you; nor is it good for me.
With a country like ours,
built on those who meander,
let us not be bystanders;
instead put our trust in Sanders.

He is strong-willed
and believes in the youth.
He wants to help with college
that is surely the truth.
So let us take part
in the election this year.
Our vote is our voice.
We have nothing to fear.
- MORIAH HAMMOND, BRADFORD
An elephant story
Imagine a place where the only thing
relevant
is in fact an enormous elephant
who lives on a mountain with billions of
ants
that was once a molehill somewhere in
France.
But the molehill was small and the elephant large
so he got up and left Paris, France, in a
barge
that sunk in the river and it overflowed,
submerging the world, and all of this
showed
that the elephant was the only being alive
since he had the mountain of a molehill
to ride.
And all of the ants were merely pretend
because all of their lives had come to an
end.
The death of their world tore the elephant
apart
because in his chest was a very big heart
that pounded and rattled around in its
cage
with his blood pressure rising like a temperature gauge.
And because he knew he had caused their
world harm
he plowed down the mountain to make a
small farm
and he built a small house, and he dug a
small pond
and placed in the house a nice, large palm
frond
that one day would grow to the size of the
sea
and would rescue all beings who were
trying to flee.
The elephant would then be the hero of
the day
by saving them from the problem he
caused on the way.
But there was one small piece of information he had overlooked;
all beings had dissipated, so he was let off
the hook
of caring about beings that did not exist
as he sunk down into a pile of bliss.
Because even though he was at fault,
no one could blame him in his sea full of
salt.
- NATALIE BARTON, BRADFORD

Hummingbird

hundred submissions from students across Vermont
and New Hampshire. A team of staff, mentors and
students selects the best writing and images for
publication. This week, we present responses to the
prompt, General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
I awoke to the sound of a hummingbirds

wings,
one with colors of brilliant green.
His breast was coated with the richest of
reds,
and his eyes directed him right ahead.
I awoke to the sound of pounding hooves.
I looked out and saw white muscles
move.
Her mane whipped out behind her elegant
head,
this wonderful specimen, a sleek thoroughbred.
I awoke to the sound of a rainforests life,
the colors all vivid and free of strife.
Flowers bloomed with soft pink petals;
this is where I wanted to settle.
I awoke to the sound of soft breathing in
the night,
and I saw the stars shining bright.
My eyes drooped as all went dark.
I thought of magic, and I saw the spark.
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I awoke to the sound of a lovely voice,

one with words of rejoice.
I saw my life with dirt and stains,
but it was cleansed by the morning rain.
PHYSICIANS COMPUTER
COMPANY
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
CONGRATULATIONS
TO THE WINNERS OF THE
I AND YOU
POETRY CHALLENGE!

Ben Maksym of Grand Isle

Kaytlyn Young of Shelburne
Peyton Cassel of Lancaster, PA
Winners receive two tickets to the
Vermont Stage play, I and You, at
FlynnSpace in Burlington from April
20 to May 8. See the winning poems
and all submissions to the prompt at:
youngwritersproject.org/iandyou.
Tickets to the play: vermontstage.org
I awoke to the sound of a hummingbirds

wings,
one with colors of brilliant green.
I knew that all should be okay,
but tears still fell as my hummingbird
flew away.
- MARYAM ISABEL SARAFZADE, MONTPELIER
Smoke
He opened the door
to find smoke,
thick grey smoke,
accompanied by an alarm.
Choking on that very smoke,
he hobbled down the stairs,
almost falling once or twice,
coughing
all the way down,
squinting to see through,
then
letting out a sigh.
It was not a fire.
She had tried to cook.
- SAMANTHA HAYS, NORTHFIELD
Kevin Huang, Burlington High School
Oblivion
The world is an hourglass.
The grains are slowly falling until the
time is up.
With every passing day the world is
slowly dying because of us.
We are killing the world.
We are the true murderers,
every single one of us.

Ever so slowly
we are creeping up on the world and landing blows;
the only difference is its going to take
longer till the world finally gives up.
And when its gone, it will be gone
forever.
- JAYLYN DAVIDSON, NORTHFIELD
READ THE LATEST ISSUE

OF YWPS DIGITAL MAGAZINE

Soul burner
Listen closely, children. This is a
story you will not forget. In the woods of
Vermont, there is the worst creature you
could ever meet. It stands on hind legs
and it is as burly as a bear. Its muscles
literally tear through its skin as it runs.
It has a head of long, twisted black
hair that is braided with flint knives,
birds skulls, finger bones, and foliage to
hide its face, or lack of a face.
The reason why it hunts is obvious:
revenge, revenge sparked from when the
old medicine man stole his soul. Now he
hunts, eating the souls of New Yorkers
lost in the Vermont forest. So remember,
when you feel the burn at the back of
your neck, its not the sun; its him.
- CALEB DUNCAN, NORTHFIELD
Wanderer
New York City is an amazing place.
The lights and the crowds astound tourists, and so do the many homeless. They
huddle in doorways or lounge in alleys,
often unnoticed by the bustling citizens.
But there is one man no one can fail to
see. He roams the streets of New York,
from Times Square to Harlem, night and
day, winter and summer. People who have
lived in the city their whole lives remember seeing this man when they were
children and see almost no change in him
many years later. He is called Wanderer.
He is old, very old, and walks with a
crooked back. His bald head is tattooed in
swirling shapes of a deep, faded blue and
his gnarled white beard contrasts starkly
with his suntanned skin. His weatherworn, forest green cloak, like something
out of a fantasy film, flaps into the faces
of Yankees fans and fools in work boots
on windy days. He leans on a long spiked
hammer of tarnished metal, near as tall as
he. The police have stopped him on many
occasions because of this implement, but
as the years have passed they have left
him to his endless journey.
Children talk of the times he has
fought off criminals harassing women
or attacking some poor soul. Wanderer
is feared but loved, more like the Naked
Cowboy than a common miscreant. It is
said he controls a drug cartel, and it is
whispered that he gives every penny he
earns to the homeless of New York City.
It is also said that he died decades ago
and others have taken his place, tattooing
their bodies and buying war-hammers to
wander the streets, helping where they
can and accepting nothing in return.
- BRIGGS HEFFERNAN, NEWBURY
THIS WEEK: Myth & General
YWP NEWS
selects the best writing and images for publication.
This week, we present responses to the challenges,
Myth: Write a wacky urban myth; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

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MGN FAMILY FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
for your FREE subscription
to The Voice,
YWPs digital literary magazine!
NEXT CHALLENGES
Op-ed. Write an opinion piece based
on a current news story. Take a side
and make a persuasive argument.
Alternate: Awoke: I awoke to the
sound unleash a poem with this
line. Due April 15
Blue. It was the most brilliant
shade of blue Id ever seen Work
that phrase (or concept) into a poem
or story. Alternate: Framed: You
have a photograph of a meaningful moment. Describe it. But wait,
theres more now tell a story
about whats just outside the frame.
Post the photo! Due April 22
Kaleb Aiken, Essex Junction
Passage: You find a secret passage

in the basement of your grandfathers house. Where does it lead?
How does it change your perspective
about your family/grandfather? Alternate: Surveillance: What do you
think about government or military
surveillance? When does it go too
far? Due April 29
Submit your writing and photos to
youngwritersproject.org.
Maybe, just maybe
Dear me,
change scares me,
time scares me,
the unknown scares me,
small spaces scare me,
big spaces scare me,
people scare me,
pencil sharpeners scare me,
sickness scares me,
bugs scare me,
pain scares me,
the dark scares me,
love scares me.
Everything, it seems, scares me.
Im just a person,
a person scared of petty things,
and big things and small things,
who gets sad and mad.
Im just a person,
a person who has fears
and feelings
that also scare me.
Im just a person who lies sometimes
and tells the truth most of the time.
Im just a person who reads and draws
and thinks too much.
Im one out of many,
a person who jumps with excitement and
smiles with joy,
just a small one out of big ones,
just a smart one out of smarter ones,
just a dreamer among dreamers,
just a star in a night sky,
just a word in a book,
just me.
And maybe just me
is not special enough to be
a sun in a solar system or
a best-selling book or
the dream that dreamers dream or
the biggest one out of the big ones.
Maybe thats enough.
Maybe, just maybe, I can be a big word
in a best-selling book and an extra bright
star in the night sky and a smart dreamer
out of only dreamers.
Maybe, just maybe, the very fact that I
am not the best is what makes me shine
the brightest.
Dear me,
you are amazing.
You are special.
You are strong.
And so are the dreams, and the suns,
and the best-selling books,
and the geniuses.
Dear reader,
you are amazing.
You are special.
You are strong.
Dont forget it.
This week, we present responses to the prompt, General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org,
a safe, civil online community.
- SHYLOH WONDER-MAEZ, BARRE
ABOUT THE PROJECT
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A lie
You know this puzzle as life.
I know it as a lie,
as a labyrinth,
a maze I have to face alone.
You dont face it alone.
You might have a helping hand to help
you through this maze.
I have the ghost of my past around every
corner,
right or left, its there,
glinting in every monsters eye.
I thought I knew the answer, but now I
realize
I jumped straight into another lie,
the lie you know as me.
-MIA SMITH, MONTPELIER
YWP NEWS
AMY E. TARRANT
FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
DONT MISS THE APRIL ISSUE

THE VOICE
WRITING CHALLENGES
Op-ed. Write an opinion piece based
on a current news story. Take a side
and make a persuasive argument. Try
to keep it tight. Try to write it to just
three paragraphs. Alternate: Awoke:
I awoke to the sound unleash a
poem with this line. Due April 15
Madi Cohen, Bolton
This moment
THIS WEEK: Perspective & Moment
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submisHere I am, sitting alone at my bus stop,
sions from students across Vermont, New Hampshire
sheltered from the cold wind. As the wind
whistles past me, the glittering snow runs
and beyond. This week, we present responses to
away with it and a figure, a little figure of
Perspective: Write from the perspective of something
a woman stumbles toward me.
unconventional & Moment: Use this line in a story,
Excuse me! I call out. Do you need
help?
Never forget this moment, my child... Read more
When she doesnt respond I sprint
great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
toward her. Shes freezing and has nothing
but jeans and a sweatshirt on. She mumbles something to me, cold, get me out...
BOUT THE ROJECT
HANKS FROM
I slowly guide the poor woman to the bus
Young Writers Project is an indestop and rush inside to get Mother.
YWP is supported by this newsMother! Mother! Come quick theres a
pendent nonprofit that engages stupaper and foundations, businesses
freezing little old lady outside; we need to
dents to write, helps them improve
help her!
Well, what are you waiting for? Get
her inside! Hurry, hurry! Mother replies.
audiences and on web sites, youngWhen I return to the bus stop shes lying
writersproject.org, vpr.net, vtdigger.
there, barely breathing, Oh no! I scream.
Mother rushes out the door with blankets,
VT 05401.
publishes The Voice, a monthly digisocks and the phone. She instructs me to
tal magazine with YWPs best writSpecial thanks this week to
wrap her with the blankets and put the
ing, images and features. To learn
socks on her bare hands and feet, while she
VERMONT BUSINESS
dials 911.
ROUNDTABLE
Slowly and carefully I wrap her with
blankets until she looks like a cocoon.
The bus arrives and I know I cant go to
school with this poor lady dying on my
HOTO OF THE WEEK
bus bench.
I get on the bus, ask the driver to wait
and grab a few of the older kids to help
me. The four older kids lift the lady on to
the bus, where its warm, and we all wait
on the bus for the ambulance to arrive.
One..two...five minutes pass and the
ambulance doesnt come. Two more minutes...five minutes...Finally I hear sirens
in the distance. We carry the old woman
off the bus to the ambulance. I ask Mother
if I can ride in the ambulance with her.
But I have to go to school. All day long I
wonder if she made it.
At the end of the day I am certain she
has died, with no family around her. Shes
just going to be sent to the morgue and
cremated like nobody cares about her.
I get off the bus and run inside to
Mother and ask if I we can go see how the
woman is doing and she agrees. When we
get to the hospital I run inside and ask at
Madi Cohen, Bolton
the front desk about a woman who came
in that morning with no name. She checks
the rooms and tells us its Room 12. I am
so relieved! Shes alive! We slowly walk
down the halls. I enter Room 12 and shes
sitting up in her hospital bed, looking
I dont say much, its mostly yes and no. I cant do anything else.
much better. But shes confused to see
I just nod and shake my head all day, except for the pauses when no one bothers to
someone visiting her. She asks, Are you
tap me on the head.
the girl who saved me?
Life is pretty boring because I only have one job: nod my head when touched or
Yes I respond proudly.
moved. Its not that hard, but very annoying and dull.
Then... Never forget this moment, my
Word of advice: If you ever need something to do, do not become a Bobblehead!
child.
- SOPHIA HEINZ, MONTPELIER
Bobbleheads
- CAMILLE CHENEY, MONTPELIER
YWP NEWS
YWP
POETRY COMPETITION!
WRITE A POEM! GET PUBLISHED!
WIN TICKETS TO THIS AMAZING
PLAY BY
VERMONT STAGE!
SUBMISSIONS DUE MARCH 31

More details:
youngwritersproject.org/iandyou
NEXT CHALLENGES
Tweet: Tell a story in a tweet
(140-character segments). Alternate:
Sound-Shower: Listen to the audio
link on this challenge on youngwritersproject.org/prompts15-16
and write the story you hear. Due
March 25
Humbling: I thought I knew the
answer, but finish the sentence
in a story of a real or imagined
experience. Alternate: Expectations: You meet your biggest idol.
Describe the meeting. Is the person
everything you had hoped for or ?
Due April 1
Experiment: Youve got a
monkey in a cage, a basketball, a
paperback of the latest YA craze,
and a bottle of pomegranate juice
what kind of experiment are you
doing? What do you hope to learn
from it? (Feel free to imagine your
own wacky scenario). Alternates:
Gate: Use this phrase in a story:
She slipped out the gate and started
to run or General: Send us
your best work of any category or
type that youve created in or out of
school. Due April 8
Wolf
THIS WEEK: Ice & General writing
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submisHmmm...the elk calf ran somewhere in
this direction. My cubs cannot be hungry
sions from students across Vermont, New Hampshire
another day.
Wolf takes careful steps into the freshly
fallen snow. Crunch, crunch.
This week, we present responses to the challenges,
Her coal-black nose lifts in the air trying to
track the smell of the elk calf.
Sound-Ice: Listen to the sound and write; and GenClumps of snow land on her white-gray fur
eral writing. More at youngwritersproject.org.
as she searches for her dinner.
If only she could track the scent of the
BOUT THE ROJECT
HANKS FROM
wound she gave the elk calf!
Wait! She smells blood...
Young Writers Project is an indeYWP is supported by this newsWolf quickly spots the trail of blood leadpendent
nonprofit
that
engages
stupaper
and foundations, businesses
ing deeper into the forest.
dents
to
write,
helps
them
improve
and
individuals
who recognize the
Picking up her pace, she follows her nose
power
and
value
of writing. If you
and
connects
them
with
authentic
through the evergreen forest. The trees
would
like
to
contribute,
please go
audiences
in
newspapers,
before
live
stand tall and sparkle like emeralds.
to
youngwritersproject.org/support,
audiences
and
on
web
sites,
youngThe snow falls faster and faster, and Wolf
writersproject.org, vpr.net, vtdigger.
can sense the elk calf near.
org,
and
cowbird.com.
YWP
also
Wolf slows to a halt, listening intently in
VT 05401.
publishes
The
Voice,
a
monthly
digithe deep woods.
tal magazine with YWPs best writHer eyes dart in every direction, scanning
ing, images and features. To learn
her surroundings.
The scent of the calf is so clear now.
Suddenly, something moves on her right.
Her head turns quickly to a bush shrouded
in snow. I got you now!
Wolf sees the small head of a 3-month-old
HOTO OF THE WEEK
elk calf, its eyes filled with confusion and
fear. Screeeeeeeeeech.
Wolf turns her head at the terrible sound of
an angry mama elk.
The mamas body is sleek and wet from
the snow. She has large, beautiful eyes, but
they are filled with hate.
Wolf bares her teeth and does a low warning growl. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrllllllllllll.
Then, more elks, males too, come from
behind the mama.
Uh oh...Wolf dashes away, remembering
the last time she picked a fight with elks.
The snow blinds her as she runs to her
pack, ready for the disappointment in her
pups eyes, another night without dinner.
She arrives with the rest of the pack, in a
circle of pines, and greets the other wolves,
growling if they get too close.
Wolf walks to the little cave of rocks where
she has hidden her pups and sees them
feasting on a small rabbit.
Confusion bubbles up in the wolfs stomach, along with hunger. A rabbit?
Her pups sparkling eyes look up at her.
Daddy came back. He helped us hunt.
Wolf runs out of the cave, looks frantically,
but has no hope of finding him.
Where did he go, little ones? Her pups
cock their little heads and reply, What do
NEXT CHALLENGES
you mean?
Wolf sighs with sadness and settles down
Humbling: I thought I knew the answer, but finish the sentence in a story of
next to the pups, helping them finish off
a real or imagined experience. Alternate: Expectations: You meet your biggest idol
the rabbit. Disappeared, again.
insert celebrity/public figure here describe the meeting. Due April 1
MARYAM ISABEL SARAFZADE, MONTPELIER
YWP
Leaving for
Afghanistan
I feel a scratch against my cheek
as he kisses it goodbye.
You need to shave! I insist.
Its the last thing I say.
He walks out the door.
I sprint to the window
and I press my face against the cool glass;
Im holding back tears
until I hear the achingly familiar sound
of the tires crunching against the gravel
driveway.
And then I have no choice
and my face starts to get wet
while I press my hands up on the window,
next to my face, leaving small smudged
hand prints.
I will him to look at me,
to see me and turn the car around
and run inside and hug me while
telling me that he would never leave,
he wouldnt.
He turns the first corner and honks once.
He wont look at me.
Why wont he look at me?
He looks angry as he stares straight
ahead.
Why arent they here next to me?
Why dont they care?
Hes leaving!
Hes leaving.
Why arent they watching?
Is this because of that divorce thing they
told me about?
I dont even understand what that means!
Couldnt you at least pretend?
Im only a little kid.
He stops to look both ways,
and my face is still pressed against the
window
and he pulls out of the driveway;
then hes gone
and Im still against the window
and my sights getting foggier
as my mother watches me from the doorway.
MADISON OKELLY, MONTPELIER
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Beware the button

It all started with this huge button. It
was just there one day when I went to my
job at the library.
I was shelving the books in the mystery section when I noticed that there
were about 20 of the exact same colored
books, making a gigantic square in the
middle of the bookcase.
I pulled one of the books out. I was
shocked to find there was no title or any
words on the inside!
I picked up another and another, but
they were all blank. I couldnt figure out
why this had happened; no books had
ever been blank in the library before.
Its probably just a misunderstanding.
Ill take these books to Mrs. Fluffernutter
right now! I thought.
WHEN I TOUCHED THE BUTTON,

THE WORLD SLIPPED AWAY
FOR A MOMENT.
I started putting the rest of the books in

my cart to take to Mrs. Fluffernutter, the
head librarian, but something red caught
my eye.
I pulled the last couple of books away,
and sitting right behind them was a BIG.
RED. BUTTON!
I couldnt believe it; the button was
so huge, it was probably bigger than my
waistline.
For some reason, I felt somehow
attracted to it. Not like I thought it was
beautiful, but as if it was pulling me with
an invisible fishing pole.
I reached out. It was so tempting.
When I touched the button, the world
slipped away for a moment. I was being
pulled away. It only lasted for about a
minute or so before I found myself standing.
I wasnt in the library anymore, I was
in some sort of rocky cave. I felt around
for anything that I could familiarize myself with, but all I could find was jagged
edges with a slimy surface.
I tried to move forward but there was
a wall. So I turned around and came face
to face with the BIG. RED. BUTTON!
I instantly pressed it, hoping to be
back in my beloved library. After a brief
floating feeling, I discovered I was riding
something, and was very surprised to look
down and find an elephant.
I looked around to see another elephant
and two horses leading the way down a
path. ...
CAMILLE CHENEY, MONTPELIER
(Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/1686.)
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions from students across the country. A team of
staff, mentors and students selects the best local writing and images for publication here. This week, we
present responses to the challenge for General writing. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.
org, a civil, respectful, online community.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
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PERFORMANCE WORKSHOP 5 P.M.
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NEXT CHALLENGES
Emma Comeau, Shelburne
Sleep
To sleep. I miss it.
The sensation of drifting slowly into
the warm embrace of the dark, knowing
you would wake up feeling rested and
happy.
The subtle ache of your eyelids telling
your brain its time to close them, and
being able to.
I miss the minutes before sleep, and
when you wake up, never knowing exactly how long it has been.
I havent slept in years, it seems, always resting, never rested. Ever since that
fateful Sunday. The day I died.
FRANCES KAPLAN, E. MONTPELIER
READ
Tweet: Tell a story in a tweet

(140-character segments). Alternate:
Sound-Shower: Click on the audio link
on this challenge and write the story you
hear or use the sound clip and others to
create a soundscape. Due March 25
Humbling: I thought I knew the
answer, but finish the sentence in a
story of a real or imagined experience.
Alternate: Expectations: You meet your
biggest idol insert celebrity/public
figure here describe the meeting. Due
April 1
Feeling weightless
Never forget this moment, my child,
the old man said.
Never forget feeling young and weightless; never caring, and always moving.
Never forget being so small, but feeling
so big,
and seeing everything in this world in its
purest form.
Always remember to dance in the sun,
and sing in the rain.
Never lose that sense of wonder, that
feeling that keeps you searching, and
prowling
through the darkness.
Never forget to love, never forget that you
are loved.
Never forget this, my child,
because if you do, the world will crumble
at your feet, and youll never look up.
Be kind; give your hand to the underdog
even if no one else does.
Laugh as if all the sound has been locked
away,
and youre trying desperately to reach it.
Never forget these things, little one;
always hold on.
Of course, I am just an old man telling
you stories that fill your head,
and cloud your thoughts.
But try to remember, little one, because
someday you will feel like you are falling,
and you will think that nothing can stop
you.
But if you remember all these things,
you will feel like you are flying.
THIS WEEK: Moment

and beyond. This week, we present local responses
to the writing challenge, Moment: Use this phrase,
Never forget this moment, my child, the old man
said Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org, a civil online community of writers.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
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FRIDAY, MARCH 11
MORE INFO
JANES TRUST
PHOTO OF THE WEEK

NORA DILLON, EAST MONTPELIER
Never forget
Man in the moon

Dear Old Man in the Moon,
can I make a wish on you, too,
as I do when a star shines and catches my
glance?
Can I make a wish while I lie here in the
grass,
the air cooling with the night approaching?
I wish that I will never forget this moment,
this moment where all is peaceful,
where no worry nips my ankles,
where nobody nags me.
A cool wind blows over me
as if a breath is washing over me.
the old man whispers.
MIA SMITH, EAST MONTPELIER
YWP EVENTS
Madi Cohen, Bolton

the old man said as he paddled down the
river in the canoe.
Jimmy sat in the front, looking around
in wonder at all the trees and mountains.
He had never seen anything like this
before. Back at his home in New York
City, all he saw were big buildings and
cars everywhere. Those big skyscrapers
blocked out views of the sky. Here, with
the old man, he could see mountains and
trees and meadows with cows grazing. He
had never seen so much of the sky.
I see youre enjoying the views, the
old man observed.
I guess, replied Jimmy. He reached
out to feel the cold water around his hand.
My cabin is coming up on the left; we
will stop there, the old man said.
Jimmy was too astounded to reply, for
he had seen a bald eagle swoop down and
perch on a branch.
LEO CIOFFI, EAST MONTPELIER
Revenge
I sneak through the bushes, tracking
Adelina Amouteru as she travels with
her sister. Her illusions cannot stop me. I
see through every one of her tricks. Her
past might be harsh, but it doesnt give
her the excuse to kill my closest friend. I
hide behind a pine tree, listening to their
conversation.
Adelina, my feet are aching. Lets stop
for the night; you arent going to be late for
anything.
Fine, but we leave early morning. I
have my heart set on arriving in the city.
The city?
Let us eat, Violetta.
At these words, they head my way.
Quickly, I turn into a chickadee and fly up
into the pine where I turn back to human
form. My malfetto power is shape-shifting
into beasts. Adelinas is creating illusions. But a beasts eyes can see through
those illusions. Violetta, I am not sure,
but something is inside of her sending off
supernatural waves. I look down from my
branch and see them setting up camp. A
small tent made of blankets is put up, and
Adelina comes back from a nearby lake
with water.
It is almost sundown, and I need a plan.
I look at Violetta, and it comes to me. I
turn into a nightingale and sing a note as I
fly to the lake.
I thought nightingales only sang at
night, Violetta noted.
Hmm. Adelina seemed suspicious of
me. Good.
At the lake, I turn human and kneel at
the edge of the lake. I look at my reflection
and see a tall girl with straight black hair
waving in the wind. I see a ready quiver
and bow; I see a gleaming sword. I see a
girl thirsty for revenge.
I stand from the lakeside and use the
form of a fox to get back to Adelina and
Violetta.
Violetta, will you go get some firewood
while I find some mushrooms?
Of course, my sister.
Perfect timing, it is starting to get dark
now. Violetta walks around the woods sure
to keep an eye on Adelina so she doesnt
get lost. Violetta takes her hair out of the
tight bun and lets it roll down her shoulders. I follow her as a moth, not close, but
not too far. I turn into a bird and fly ahead.
Where she cant see, I morph into a beautiful white stallion. I trot up to her line of
sight and hear her soft gasp at my beauty.
I see the desire in her eyes, and she comes
toward me whispering. Come, my beauty,
do not be afraid!
THIS WEEK: Fanfiction

hundred submissions from students across Vermont,
New Hampshire and beyond. This week, we present
responses to the challenge, Fanfiction: Place yourself in one of your favorite fictional tales. What kind
of trials are you and your beloved characters facing
today? Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

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PHOTO OF THE WEEK

TEEN OPEN MIC, MONTPELIER!
FRIDAY, MARCH 11
MORE INFO
NEXT PROMPTS
Clouds: Imagine you have the ability
to float up to and walk on clouds -- and
not fall through. What do you do with
this newfound power? Alternates: Photo-SeaStairs: Use the photo, Seapoint,
Dublin, Ireland, by Giuseppe Milo to
write a story. Due March 4
Wishes: You come upon a wishing
well. What kind of magic happens at the
bottom of a wishing well? Who handles
all these wishes and how? Alternate:
Sound-Stirring: Listen to the sound on
youngwritersproject.org and write the
story you hear. Due March 11
MARYAM ISABEL SARAFZADE,

MONTPELIER
(Fanfiction: The Young Elites by Marie Lu)
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
Dylan Sayamouangkhua, Burlington
After the beep

At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished dialing,
please hang up, or press one for more
options.
_________________________________
***
I know you dont want to hear this.
And Im not sorry.
But I dont love you.
Even though I do.
But ... its complicated.
You know that.
Thats the thing about us.
And everyone.
Were so redundant.
Just like life.
WE LIVE LIFE. TO DIE?

I MEAN ... WHATS THAT ALL ABOUT?
I dont get it.
... I just dont understand.
We live life.
To die?
I mean ...
Whats that all about?
Ha. I guess it doesnt matter.
Nothing matters.
So, yeah.
You probably read what I left for you on
your table.
I guess I explain better in there.
But I just needed to talk?
One last time ...
And ...
People will write.
I know.
Theyll write about me.
When I can no longer hear them.
Listen to them.
And dont believe a word they say.
People want to remember the good in
others.
After they ...
Well. Just remember,
That I was not good.
Remember who I really was.
I was never a good person.
So, yeah.
I guess,
I dont know.
Bye?
SYLVAN WILLIAMS, MIDDLESEX

THIS WEEK: Voicemail & Photo
YWP NEWS
and beyond. A team of staff and students selects the
best writing and images for publication. This week,
we present responses to Voicemail: Write a poem in
the form of a voicemail message & Photo-Veggies.
Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
JANES TRUST
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
GET YOUR FREE SUBSCRIPTION

AT YOUNGWRITERSPROJECT.ORG
Perfect veggies
Some people like their vegetables to
look so precise. They fiddle and fiddle
with them until they are perfect. Sometimes it takes hours or days.
They think that every single piece of
food that they eat needs to be perfect.
They can never eat at places where they
cannot cook the food themselves because
it will not be good enough looking.
Why do things have to be so perfect?
Everything has to look perfect. Everybody says that they are perfect, even me.
Photo-Veggies: Artisan by Apionid. (Creative Commons.)
At The Generator in Burlington by Kevin Huang, Burlington (See more photos in The Voice)
NEXT WRITING CHALLENGES

Seuss. Write in rhyme! Create a cast of crazy characters! YWP honors the late Dr.
Seuss, who would have turned 112 on March 2. Alternate: Perspective: Tell a story
from the perspective or viewpoint of something unconventional: a chocolate bar, a
houseboat, a spider, etc. Due Feb. 19
Before: Think of one of your favorite places -- an old building, a barn, a house. Now
imagine this place 100 years ago or even 200 years ago. What did it look like then?
Tell a story. Alternate: Sound-Train: Listen to the sound clip on youngwritersrproject.
org and write the story you hear. Due Feb. 26
Nobody should be perfect. They should

be weird. Nobody is normal or perfect
and everybody has flaws. Everybody will
have improvement on something, no matter how long they have been doing it or
how good they are at it.
When you think that you are perfect,
say to yourself, I am not perfect; I have
a lot of talents and things that I need to
improve on.
When you think that you need to be
perfect, say to yourself, I dont need to
be perfect. I need to do my best and try
my hardest. Nobody needs to be perfect.
Not even vegetables...
AMELIA NORDLE, DUXBURY
Letter in the night

Running, feet pounding on the ground,
my breath comes in raspy gasps. My head
pounds as my lungs scream for air. I hear
them coming. Not loud chasing, but quiet
stalking. Then something hits me in the
shoulder. I scream and darkness surrounds me.
Amnisty! You were screaming again,
Aila says, shaking my shoulders.
Oh, sorry, bad dream.
I pull on my smock and hear a church
bell chime: 2 oclock in the morning. A
man comes in with a bulky, canvas bag,
his head bent low. He throws a letter onto
my lap ... It has a red wax seal and smells
of smoke and cinnamon. I flip it to the
front and see that there is no return address. I rip it open and pull out a scribbled
letter as if it was written in a hurry.
My dear Amnisty,
How I have missed you. These past few
months have been ghastly for me. The soldiers
continue to search for me and the others, but
we have stayed hidden this long and I pray
that it will stay that way until we must move
again. I am truly sorry for all the secrets and
I promise that I will help you get out of your
mill before we leave here. I wish that I could
see your face but I know that I would only be
putting us both in danger. Please write to me.
Give your letter to the man who delivered this
one. I know we will see one another soon.
Love eternally, Freiheit
My mind races as I try to remember

anyone I used to know with the name
Freiheit and who would write with such
feeling and love. I never recalled having any lovers, but I dont remember
my young teen years when I used to live
with my mother and sister. I hear an earsplitting bell and soldiers come marching
in. All the other women and teen girls
stand up, their eyes full of sleep, and we
walk slowly into the stuffy mills. As I
work, I wonder how to get paper, a pen,
an envelope and stamps. Then it hits me.
I will have to sneak into the overseers
office and steal some. I shake my head: Is
it really worth it to risk my life to write a
letter to someone I dont even know?
But we live in hard times. My mother
and sister are dead and my father is dead
to me. I have no one except for Aila, who
cares for me, but even Aila doesnt know
anything about me nor I her. I finally
come to a decision; that night I will sneak
into the overseers office and steal the
supplies and write and send the letter this
night ...
Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.
org/node/4958.
CHRISTIE CECERE, AGE 14, MONTPELIER
THIS WEEK: General

and New Hampshire. A team of staff and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This
week, we present responses to the challenge, General
writing, to write about anything in any genre. Read
more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
Winter in Vermont
I step out into the chilly afternoon. The
sun glistens off the blankets of snow, and
I see my friends waiting for me.
I take a deep breath through my nose;
it smells like wintergreen and falling
snowflakes.
I continue to walk, hearing the crunch
of snow and ice under my boots. I stop
and reach a gloved hand into the fluffy
white. As I reach my hand past the thin
layer of hardened snow, I scoop it, and
round it in my hands.
Hiding it behind my back, I continue,
acting casual so I can surprise them.
I enclose my hand around the snowball
and throw it as hard as I can, ducking
behind a hill of snow.
When I pop my head up, I know the
battle is on, making it a perfect winter in
Vermont.
CAMILLE CHENEY, AGE 13, MONTPELIER
PARTNERS
YWP NEWS & EVENTS

VERMONT WRITES DAY
IS WEDNESDAY, FEB. 10!
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Write for just 7 minutes! More

info: youngwritersproject.org/vtwritesday2016.
Kevin Huang, Age 17, Burlington
NEXT WRITING CHALLENGES

Seuss. Write in rhyme! Create a cast of crazy characters! YWP honors the late Dr.
Seuss, who would have turned 112 on March 2. Alternate: Perspective: Tell a story
from the perspective or viewpoint of something unconventional: a chocolate bar, a
houseboat, a spider, etc. Due Feb. 19
Before: Think of one of your favorite places an old building in town or a barn
or a house. Now imagine this place 100 years ago or even 200 years ago. What did
it look like then? Tell a story. Alternate: Sound-Train: Listen to this sound clip on
youngwritersproject.org/prompts15-16 and write a story. Due Feb. 26
Flee into the forest
It was the eyes, chocolate brown and

always searching, that warned me to run,
to run and disappear, forever, to get away
from the scorching flames that reached to
the night sky. And I obeyed.
Taking one last look at my sister, with
her beautiful copper hair and a forgiving
expression, I fled into the hostile forest.
I ran through the night, leaping over
fallen oaks and ducking under low
branches. A slight mist formed and was
gliding gently past the trees.
My shirt was torn by the cruelty of my
fate. My sneakers were soaked by all the
brooks and creeks I had trudged through
to get away. The night sky only got darker
and darker. Clouds shrouded the moon
and stars from sight. Owls hooted and
bats screeched. Silent footsteps were
only faintly heard under the sound of my
clumsy sprinting feet.
The forest floor was covered with stray
branches and pine needles. My fear, fear
for my sister, fear of my familys wrath,
was always with me.
They say that being faced with fear
makes your heart pump faster so you can
run longer. They say that being faced with
fear makes your pupils grow larger so you
can see better.
My fear makes me only see the chocolate brown eyes I left behind and allows
me to carry the burden longer than I could
ever imagine.
MARYAM ISABEL SARAFZADE, AGE 13,
MONTPELIER
THIS WEEK: Eyes

hundred submissions from students. A team of staff
and students selects the best local writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses
to the challenge, Eyes: It was the eyes, chocolate
brown and always searching, that warned me to
Finish the scene. More at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
AMY E. TARRANT
FOUNDATION
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Through the fire

always searching, that warned me to
escape from the brick house on the top of
Chester Peak Hill Road, three miles away
from any kind of humanity. I remember
that day so clearly in my mind, as if every
little detail was embroidered in my mind
forever. I remember hearing something,
almost crackling from downstairs; I
remember wrapping myself in the quilt on
my bed as I tiptoed downstairs.
I remember the stairs feeling warm,
so strangely warm that my toes burned,
then the fire as huge endless bursts of red
rushing down.
My mom screamed first, clutching
my sweaty body to hers protectively. My
dad was behind her; he was holding our
orange cat in his arms. Oh, how worried,
how sad, how scared, their faces had
looked. ... Read the complete story at young-
writersproject.org/ /node/3805
ISABEL GIAMMUSSO, AGE 12, EAST

MONTPELIER
VERMONT WRITES DAY

IS WEDNESDAY, FEB. 10!
Stop everything to write for just seven

minutes! Find out more at youngwritersproject.org/vtwritesday2016.
Outed

always searching, that warned me to back
away. Youve gone far enough, they tell
me. Theres no need.
But I am impatient. I have waited long
enough. And for now, I cant listen to
those chocolate brown eyes.
Yes, I say to my mother. Yes, we
are. I turn from the eyes to my mother,
whose eyebrows shoot up her forehead in
confusion and shock.
Minnie, the other one says. Her
voice is scratchy and small. Minnie, just
wait.
Mom, were dating.
And now, my mothers eyes darken to
a severity I almost dont recognize. They
havent looked that way since my brother
told her he was dropping out of college.
But this time, theyre directed at me, and
I almost wish I had listened to those eyes.
Minerva, what are you saying? she
says, voice low and threatening.
I draw myself up to my full height.
Olive and I. Were dating. I can feel
Olive tense next to me, but Im done. Im
past caring. Ive held this in for so long
that Im surprised I havent let it out yet.
Then, stillness. Silence. I swallow and
wait. My mother doesnt move a muscle.
Anxious, I look into the brown eyes that
so often search mine, looking for comfort,
but am instead stunned. I recognize those
eyes better than my own. They help me to
know Im on the right path. They console
me, they calm me, they release me. And
theyve changed. Theyve blurred with
angry tears. Those chocolate brown eyes
are hard and unforgiving. Those chocolate
brown eyes look like they dont want to
help me anymore. Theyre telling me to
leave and never come back.
Ol-Olive, I say, hoping, but she just
shakes her head. She turns. She walks
away. And before I know it, shes out the
door, taking those chocolate brown eyes
with her.
EMMA BAUER, AGE 16, STRAFFORD
THIS WEEK: Space Travel
Greenwood Space Travel Supply Co., Los Paseos (Creative Commons)
The kid inside me

I used to come here all the time as a
kid. The memories I have here are astonishing, like nothing youve ever seen;
theyre out of this world.
This place is different for me now,
though; I dont see what I used to see.
Its all gray now, dead. It just doesnt
click with me the way it used to.
When I was younger I could do anything here. I could build a rocket and then
fly it far away. I used to dream of outer
space, but not anymore.
Theres no time for that now.
Its all about money and politics.
Thats why Im back here, to remember,
remember what its like to be young, to be
free, to be able to space travel.
I want my imagination back. I want to
see the world in a color besides gray or
beige.
But my eyes are dead; they have been
crushed by the corporate world of realism.
All I want is happiness and youth. I
came here to save myself, to be happy
again, but I cant, not anymore; Ive been
destroyed, beaten, I cant be saved anymore. This desolate, blinding world has
destroyed the kid inside me.

hundred submissions from students. A team of staff,
mentors and students selects the best local writing and
images for publication. This week, we present responses to the challenge, Photo-Space Travel: Write
about the photo, Greenwood Space Travel Supply Co.
Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
VERMONT BUSINESS
ROUNDTABLE
YWP NEWS & EVENTS

INTERACTIVE AUTHOR TALKS
Author S.S. Taylor
Young Writers Project and VT Dept.

of Libraries present the first in a series
of Vermont Interactive Author Talks
featuring S.S. Taylor, author of The
Expeditioners.
SATURDAY, JAN. 30, 2 P.M.

KELLOGG-HUBBARD LIBRARY
MONTPELIER
&
VIA VIDEO CONFERENCE ELSEWHERE
More info: youngwritersproject.org/taylortalk
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
JAMES STEPHENS, AGE 14, NORTHFIELD
Six-word stories
READ THE JANUARY ISSUE

CAPTURED
Im a prisoner of the night.
THE VOICE
MUSIC
Kaleb Aiken, Essex High School
Music, the only weapon I need.
NOW
The woods, once quiet, a battlefield.
CATS
Cats, cats everywhere, but no mice.
FRANCES KAPLAN, AGE 15, EAST
MONTPELIER
The visitor
Every day: Wake up, go to work at
Greenwood Space Travel Co., come
home, go to bed.
Day after day, saving up for a car.
Twelve-hour shifts all day, every day.
Not many customers, no one to talk to,
no one to eat with, no one to stare at.
One day, a person walked in, black
trench coat on. He, or it, asked for some

parts. The parts were not any I knew of.
It walked into the storage room, then
walked out with a box of parts.
It dropped a wallet full of cash, enough
for the car. It thanked me in a murmur
that sounded like English but with a weird
accent, out of this world even. Then it
left.
BRYCE HIRD, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
WRITING CHALLENGE
Seuss. Write in rhyme! Create a cast of
crazy characters! YWP honors the late
Dr. Seuss, who would have turned 112 on
March 2. Alternate: Perspective: Tell a
story from the perspective or viewpoint
of something unconventional: a chocolate
bar, houseboat, spider, etc. Due Feb. 19
THIS WEEK: Monologue
The dark days
Whats wrong?
Nothing.
Nothing is drowning me. Nothing is
pushing every ounce of life out of me.
Nothing locks me in a dark jail cell,
catching the occasional ray of light, but
ever so fleeting, trying to transfer the
turmoil of sadness into tears, to somehow
escape the seemingly endless tunnel. Yet
it clings to my insides and remains bottled
up, hidden from the world. And when
theyre most unwanted, the tears come as
a waterfall.
Sleep is the only savior, the only safe
place here. Its like a reverse nightmare.
You dont ever want to wake up to the
nightmare that is life itself. My wounds
are deeper and more painful than any
requiring a Band-Aid. Im a ghost in my
own life, just going through the motions.
I can feel myself slipping into a darkness
deeper than one can imagine, an inescapable fear. I gasp for breath in deep water,
surrounded by all these people, but lonelier than ever, settling into nothingness
and being okay with that. They tell me Ill
feel okay again, but I know I wont. I can
tell myself Ill be better tomorrow, but
Ive been through too many tomorrows to
know that isnt the truth. Sadness has become my best and only friend, and I let it.
My chest is weighed down from within.
Everything becomes a blur. People I
used to care about become insignificant;
days seem to never end, and the person I
used to be is washed away with a neverending wave of melancholy. Then, as the
fear overcomes me and all hope is lost, he
gives me the one thing I couldnt muster:
hope. Holds me when I cry for hours.
Fills me with hope of the future and reminds me of how many people care about
me. Pulls me down the path of happiness. Takes care of me when I dont care
enough to. Helps me find things I love to
do and does them with me. Inspires me
to create new perspectives. He remains a
constant as everything races by.
After months of drowning, I am able to
come up for air. I told him I was broken,
and he told me he loved all of my pieces.
He hugs me and the sadness is squeezed
out of me, piece by piece. He tells me that
happiness is a choice, and life is meant to
be lived in happiness. We find solace in
the overwhelming beauty of nature. He
shows me the vast spectrum of greatness
in this world. There are two paths in life.
You can choose to isolate yourself from
everyone who loves you and drown in
your sadness. Or you can consciously
choose to be happy and appreciate all that
life has to offer. I choose to be happy.
FERN FREDELLA, AGE 16, SO. RYEGATE

hundred submissions from students. A team of staff,
mentors and students selects the best local writing
and images for publication. This week, we present responses to the challenge, Monologue: Write a monologue of a person who is troubled or conflicted about
something. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT

THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
Why not?
I should just do it.
Why not?
Might as well try.
Why not?
Its better to know now
rather than later.
Why not?
I might be too late if I wait.
Why not?
Because she might say no.
RICHARD ROSTEN, AGE 16, GROTON
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
BURLINGTON TELECOM
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
READ THE JANUARY ISSUE

THE VOICE
WRITING CHALLENGES
VERMONT INTERACTIVE AUTHOR TALKS

SATURDAY, JAN. 30, 2 P.M.
KELLOGG-HUBBARD LIBRARY
MONTPELIER
YWP & the VT Department of Libraries present the first in a series of Vermont
Interactive Author Talks featuring S.S.
Taylor, author of The Expeditioners.
Author S.S. Taylor
More info: youngwritersproject.org/taylortalk
Myth: Invent the wackiest urban myth

you can think of. Alternate: Love: They
said I shouldnt love you, but I couldnt
help myself Why? What happens? Due
Jan. 29
Voicemail: Write a poem in the form of
a voicemail message. Make it rhyme!
Record it! Alternate: Superhero: Create
your own superhero. Keep it classic with
a comic strip; make a slideshow or soundscape; draw a portrait or write a descriptive story. Due Feb. 5

Oh, no
Hello?
... Yes.
What? Wait ... WHY?
Oh, no ...
But why would she ... oh.
Hold on. Where did you say they went?
NO.
Slow down. You what?
... Calm down! Its OK, I believe you.
Im going over there. Are you going to
come?
OK, I have to go ... Ill tell you what
happens.
Thanks. Ill need it.
*Beep*
MEGAN ANDREW, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
Haikus of darkness
Darkness has fallen.
Shadows envelop the world.
The moon will not shine.
They sit round fires
and tell the legends of old,
remnants of days past.
THIS WEEK: One-sided & General

hundred submissions from elementary to high school
students. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This
week, we present responses to the challenges to write
a one-sided conversation & general writing in any
genre. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
BLUEBIRD BARBECUE
BURLINGTON
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
We will not fear them,

they who lurk in the darkness
and gaze from afar.
At deaths door
I dont know why it happened. I dont
know why any of this happened.
It was all quiet, nothing was going
wrong, until everything was.
It all went down at once the deafening noise and blinding light; buildings
went up like matchsticks.
The blood of the innocent spewed out
onto the streets. It covered everything.
There was no escape. I will die here, I
thought, shriveled up like the rat I am.
I deserve this, its my fault all this is
happening, I thought.
Im going to die with my ship now,
bite the bullet.
Im going to relax and let death sweep
me up, theres no way to escape it so I
might as well accept it.
Im going out there to meet my fears,
to accept my doom, to end the madness.
Theres nothing else for me to do; they
wont stop once they have me, but they
might show mercy. Im going to meet
them at Deaths Door.
JAMES STEPHENS, AGE 14, NORTHFIELD
YWP NEWS & EVENTS

VERMONT WRITES DAY!
WEDNESDAY, FEB. 10, 2016
We wont be afraid.
None ever come to harm us.
Shadows only watch.
JOIN THE FUN!

WRITE FOR JUST SEVEN MINUTES!
AUDREY ELY, AGE 14, BARRE
Find out more:

youngwritersproject.org/vtwritesday2016
This world
Cant you see it? Look at what we have
become.
We were all born innocent, pure. Its
society that has corrupted our minds. The
violence, hatred, thefts its society that
has really done it. We are the reason life
is slowly dying out.
SEQUOIA DROWN, AGE 14, NORTHFIELD
READ MORE

GREAT WRITING AT
Snowballs by Kevin Huang, Age 17, Burlington
YOUNG WRITERS PROJECT

WRITING CHALLENGES
January May 2016
Photo-Veggies.Artisan by Apionid. (Creative Commons

license)
18
Moment. Use this phrase in a

story: Never forget this moment, my child, the old man said Alternate: Photo-Veggies. Some people like
their vegetables to look just so Use the
photo above, Artisan, by Apionid to tell
a story. (Creative Commons license.) Due
Jan. 15
19
Connection. You open a love

letter that isnt addressed to you,
and the writer seems so familiar its as if
the letter was written just for you. What
goes through your head? Do you write
back? What do you say? Alternates: Ad.
Create a commercial advertising any
product, real or made up. Really sell it!
Add a sketch of the ad or product if you
like! OR Sound-Ice: Listen to the sound
in this challenge and write the story you
hear or use the clip and add others to create a soundscape. Due Jan. 22
20
Myth. Invent the wackiest urban

myth you can think of. Alternate: Love. They said I shouldnt love
you, but I couldnt help myself Why?
And what happens next? Due Jan. 29
21
Voicemail. Write a poem in the

form of a voicemail message.
If possible, make it rhyme! Now record
it! We want to hear it! Alternate: Superhero. Create your own superhero. Keep it
classic with a comic strip. Make a slideshow or a dramatic soundscape. Draw a
portrait. Or write a descriptive story. Due
Feb. 5
22
School. What is the best thing

and the worst thing about your
school? Suggest a practical solution to fix
the negative. Be proactive. Take charge!
Alternates: Sound-Typewriter. Listen to
Students, Grades 3-12, are encouraged to participate in Young

Writers Project by submitting best work done in or out of school,
and by responding to these weekly challenges. Check out youngwritersproject.org to start an account and join this community of
writers and photographers. Work is published in this and other
newspapers, YWPs anthology and digital magazine, The Voice,
VPR, VtDigger.org, cowbird.com and other media.
the sound in this challenge and use it to
inspire a story OR use this sound clip and
add others to create a soundscape; OR
General: Send us your best work of any
category or type that youve created in or
out of school. Due Feb. 12
23
Seuss. Write in rhyme! Create

a cast of crazy characters! YWP
honors the late Dr. Seuss, who would
have turned 112 on March 2. Alternate: Perspective. Tell a story from the
perspective or viewpoint of something
unconventional: a chocolate bar, a houseboat, a spider, etc.. Due Feb. 19
24
Before. Think of one of your

favorite places -- an old building
in town or a barn or a house. Now imagine this place 100 years ago or even 200
years ago. What did it look like then? Tell
a story Alternate: Sound-Train. Listen
to the sound clip on this challenge on the
site and write the story you hear or create
a soundscape using the clip and adding
others. Due Feb. 26
25
Clouds. Imagine you have the

ability to float up to and walk
on clouds -- and not fall through. What
do you do with this newfound power?
Alternates: Photo-SeaStairs. Use the
photo above right, Seapoint, Dublin, Ireland, by Giuseppe Milo to write a story.
(Creative Commons license) or General:
Send us your best work of any category
or type that youve created in or out of
school. Due March 4
26
Wishes. You come upon a wishing well. What kind of magic

happens at the bottom of a wishing well?
Who handles all these wishes and how?
Seapoint, Dublin, Ireland by Giuseppe Milo (Creative

Commons)
Alternate: Sound-Stirring. Listen to the

sound in this challenge and write the story
you hear or create a soundscape using this
and other sound clips. Due March 11
27
Fool. Its April Fools Day and

your character plays a trick that
has everyone at school laughing -- including the teachers. What is it and why is
it so funny? Alternate: Photo-Station.
What is the mood or atmosphere of the
photo top right, Fog at the Train Station, by Tambako the Jaguar? (Creative
Commons) Due March 18
28
Tweet. Tell a story in a tweet

(140-character segments). Alternate: Sound-Shower. Click on the audio
link on this challenge and write the story
you hear or use the sound clip and others
to create a soundscape. Due March 25
29
Humbling. I thought I knew

the answer, but finish the
sentence in a story of a real or imagined
experience. Alternate: Expectations. You
meet your biggest idol, --insert celebrity/
public figure here. Describe the meeting.
Is the person everything you had hoped
for or ? Due April 1
30
Experiment. Youve got a monkey in a cage, a basketball,
Fog at the Train Station, by Tambako the Jaguar. (Creative Commons)
a paperback of the latest YA craze, and a

bottle of pomegranate juice what kind
of experiment are you doing? What do
you hope to learn from it? (Feel free to
imagine your own wacky scenario). Alternates: Gate. Use this phrase in a story:
She slipped out the gate and started to
run or General. Send us your best
work of any category or type that youve
created in or out of school. n any genre.
Due April 8
31
Op-ed. Write an opinion piece

based on a current news story.
Take a side and make a persuasive argument. Try to keep it tight. Try to write it
in three paragraphs. Alternate: Awoke. I
awoke to the sound unleash a poem
with this line. Due April 15
32
Blue. It was the most brilliant

shade of blue Id ever seen
Work that phrase (or concept) into a poem
or story. Alternate: Framed. You have a
photograph of a meaningful moment. Describe it. But wait, theres more now
tell a story about whats just outside the
frame. Post the photo! Due April 22
33
Passage. You find a secret passage in the basement of your

grandfathers house. Where does it lead?
How does it change your perspective
about your family/grandfather? Alternate:
Surveillance. What do you think about
government or military surveillance?
When does it go too far? Due April 29
34
Back. Oh gosh, theyre back...

Write a story based on or using
that phrase. Alternates: Certain. Make a
list of 10 things you know for sure. You
can start your list with the words, This
I know It can be funny or serious; or
General writing. Due May 6
Just listening
People used to see me as quiet, nice
and smart.
The one who sits in the corner
doodling
all over her papers.
Theyre right.
I was the quiet one.
But not because
I didnt have anything to say.
I was listening.
Finally,
I was ready to talk.
And people
listened
to me.
MEGAN ANDREW, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
Its what the

whispers say
Its what the whispers say,
thats what you should pay attention to.
The murders of yesterday are tomorrows
childs play.
The nightmares of last year take hold of
our dreams this year.
And when you hear the whispers,
make sure
to grab your belongings
and run.
Because its what the whispers say that
matters!
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions from students across Vermont and around the
world. Our team of students and YWP staff selects
the best local writing and images for publication in
this and other newspapers. This week, we present
General writing in any genre. Read more great writing at youngwritersproject.org.
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THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
MARYAM ISABEL SARAFZADE, AGE 13,

MONTPELIER
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THE VOICE
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
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WORKSHOP
WITH POET RAJNII EDDINS
Its what the whispers say,

thats what you should ignore.
The hopes of today overrule my worries.
The games we play
can win anything.
And when you hear the whispers,
grab your axe
and cut them down!
Because what the whispers say that can
turn you round.
Its what the whispers say, the ones that
dont exist.
The terror of a new day,
fear of new luck.
The judging people,
the thoughts in you that care.
But when you hear the whispers,
make a mental note:
not to give a damn
about what the whispers say!
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
FRIDAY, JAN. 8
5:30 P.M.
Kevin Huang, Age 17, Burlington, VT
The climb
Fifty feet high stood the rock. Straight
climb up. No one could conquer this
impossible climb.
All the children would make fun of
him, saying he could not do it and he was
too young. He tried numerous times every
day after school, while the babysitter
waited and told him he could not do it.
One day, he told all the children in his
neighborhood that he could do it. It was
the perfect day, no wind, slightly cloudy,
but not enough to make it sad and dull.

He started the journey up the 50-foot
rock, with nothing but the clothes on his
back and determination.
The children watched in awe as he
made it to the top! No one could believe
how someone so young could do such an
amazing feat!
The other children never doubted him
again.
BRYCE HIRD, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
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BURLINGTON
FOLLOWED BY OPEN MIC
FOR MIDDLE & HIGH SCHOOLERS
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& THE VOICE
The woods
They always said, Never go in the
woods. Youll go in and never come out.
I never believed them. I always thought
that was an old saying they told around
campfires or told to their children.
So I decided one chilly October night
to go in. The only things I brought with
me were a rust switchblade and a flashlight. I didnt know why I was going to
the woods; I just woke up in the middle of
the night, and only had one thing on my
mind, the woods.
I got dressed in a daze, my brain chanting, the woods, the woods, the woods.
Only then did I realize what I was
doing. Should I really go in? I thought.
Should I risk getting in trouble, or
worse, lost?
But there was still that chanting in my
head that kept me moving forward. As I
neared the woods, the chanting got louder
until I couldnt hear anything else.
Then as I stepped over the border into
the woods; it went away. The chanting
just stopped. I looked around the woods,
and I realized, this was my home, not out
there with the roads and its noisy cars.
No, this was my home.
I walked forward, and with each step, I
felt more relaxed, more calm. I wanted to
keep walking forever and ever until there
was nothing left but me and these woods.
But then I heard a voice; it was only a
whisper and I could just make it out.
Go to sleep.
It was the most beautiful thing I had
ever heard. It was so soft and smooth, it
couldnt have belonged to any human.
Then it spoke again, Go to sleep.
It was louder this time, and just from
hearing the words, I felt drowsy. I sat
down on the ground; it was the softest
thing I had ever touched.
Go to sleep. The voice was much
louder this time. I laid down; a little nap
wouldnt hurt me.
Go to sleep! This was the loudest
of them all. The words filled me up, and
made me feel so warm inside. I finally
rested my head on the soft ground, and
slept.
Thank you, I heard a voice in my
head. It was the same beautiful voice.
I felt it pull me, felt it pull on my stomach and drag me down. I knew I should
be resisting, but the voice was so beautiful that I let it take me.
I let it pull me down into the delicate
earth until the only thing left of me was
an old rusty switchblade and a flashlight.
NORA DILLON, AGE 14, MONTPELIER
Emotion, Sports & General writing
Heartbreaks
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions from students in Vermont, across the U.S. and
other countries. A team of staff, mentors and students
selects the best local writing and images for publication here. This week, we present responses to Emotion: Describe a time when you felt an intense emotion; Sports: Invent a new sport; & General writing.
Pain, this was the feeling I felt

when he looked into my eyes and said,
Its not you. Its me.
But while he spoke, word by word,
my heart started to crack,
minute by minute,
hoping, praying, that it was just a dream.
But as he walked off,
I knew it was me.
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MAIN STREET LANDING
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
KAITLYN SMITH, AGE 14, NORTHFIELD
A walk
Walking, tap, tap, tap.
Sun melting, tap, tap, tap.
World still, tap, tap, tap.
Soft wind, tap, tap, tap.
This is my happy.
SOPHIE GUSTAFSON, AGE 10, MONTPELIER
Bouts of sadness
It hits me like a wall,
a wall of nothing.
tearing at me,
trying to break me down.
What is this,
this absolute sadness?
I am mad
at every living being.
Little things
trigger this feeling
an annoying guy,
a talkative friend.
The feeling of sadness
rips through me,
leaving me empty
of happiness.
It only happens once
in awhile.
Sometimes Im happy,
other days Im not.
I love my life
but I hate this feeling.
Lydia Smith, Age 18, Charlotte
Kongball
If I could create one sport, it would
be the chaotic, aggressive, intense sport
of kongball. The playing field would be
a large octagon with a rounded roof and
floor. Each corner would have a triangleshaped goal in it. There would be a firm
ball about the size of a softball, typically
pink, placed in the center of the arena.
Eight boys would be selected at random

from the roaring crowd, one for each corner, from age 10 to 14. The boys would
be in their corners and the ball would be
placed in the center. There would be no
rules, except for the rule that there be no
rules. The objective would be to be the
last boy standing with the ball in your net.
JESSE MARBLE, AGE 14, NORTHFIELD
AUDREY ELY, AGE 14, BARRE

&
THE VOICE
THIS WEEK: Winter Tales
Back
The snow seems to sparkle only before you set out, glistening in the early
sunlight, the thick cover over the ground,
untouched.
You step out into the drift, sinking up to
your knees, struggle to get out, though its
nearly impossible.
Not even your driveway has been cleared,
just the roads, like a long trail of sheep,
fur matted with mud, winding along
through the hills.
The road seems less like a road today,
but more of a valley, walls stretching up
on each side, trapped in a single trench,
no way to go but on, on through the winding hills, following the winding, barren
trench.
Or back. Back through the pains and the
struggles, the heartless laughs and the
meaningless tears.
Back to where nothing matters,
where you take everything for granted,
never savoring the taste of water on your
tongue,
or the smell of a storm, fast approaching.
But back is impossible.
The thick snow barricades your way.
Not even the bravest could turn and walk
through the past, though they wish to.
They wish to revel in their past being,
but it is not that easy.
Back will tear at your soul,
and devour your being,
picking apart your heart,
and sending the pieces in the swirling
wind.
Few have the courage to go on, as well.
But it is better than going back, or staying
put, so on you must go.
For Back lies certain despair.
Back grants you a lifetime of tragedies
and disappointment.
That you never wanted your shoes tied
for you; you wanted to be independent, to
be strong.
Now all you wish for is love,
the love that you were granted Back.
If you Stay Put, it will all catch up to you.
All the tears, all the joy; it wont matter.
It will crush you. So Run. Fast as you can
down the long, twisting road.
Go chase after things utterly unreachable,
just to stay a little ahead of the tide.
And only when you are too tired to run
any further, when your weak and tired
bones give way, you stop.
Feel the shadow of the wave darken your
future as the branches and thorns grow
over the end of your road.
And Back crashes over you.
And all is silent.
SYLVAN WILLIAMS, AGE 13, MIDDLESEX
Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions from students across Vermont and around the
world. A team of staff, mentors and students selects
the best local writing and images for publication here.
This week, we present local responses to the prompt,
Winter Tales: Tell a story about winter. Read more at
youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP
YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses and

individuals who recognize the power
and value of writing. If you would
like to contribute, please go to youngwritersproject.org/support, or mail
your donation to YWP, 47 Maple St.,
Suite 106, Burlington, VT 05401.
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Season of giving
Winter air a chill that prickles my skin
with every touch,
violent but also calming.
The wind lashes my face
as I slide with courage
down the steep hill.
The snow in my hair feels soft and
elegant.
Winter is a time to crave warmth,
to find it in family,
in friends,
in the hot flames of the fireplace,
in the steam of hot chocolate,
and the cover of a fleece blanket.
In winter,
we give more.
We give happiness;
we give gifts.
We give food and shelter, and whatever
else we can to help.
We eat more to stay warm.
We play more, for friendship is the core.
We love and we laugh,
and we wait for that first splash,
the first splash of warmth,
the first splash of color.
Still, when Im sliding down that hill,
I hope that winter lasts
because I love the blast,
the blast of love, the blast of warmth,
the blast of cold.
I can only hope.
DARIAN PARTLOW, AGE 12, SOUTH
BARRE
Madi Cohen, Age 13, Bolton
Magnificent
I sit down in the living room and hear the crackling of the fire.
I look outside and see beautiful, glittery snowflakes float down from the sky.
No two flakes are the same; they are so magnificent. Who knew the earth could
create such a beautiful thing?
I take a long sip of my hot drink; its just enough to make my toes tingle.
I close my eyes and dream about a snowman and a glitter-topped tree. What a
perfect winters day.
SOPHIA HENZEL, AGE 11, WATERBURY
WATCH FOR A NEW ISSUE OF

EVERY MONTH
THIS WEEK: Photo-Ghost

present responses to the challenge to write about the
photo, My Ghost. Read more at youngwritersproject.org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
Photo-Ghost. My Ghost, Matt Wilson. (Creative Commons)
The haunted girl

A four-year-old girl haunts me. She
was so happy when she was alive and she
never gave up
She must hate me. She must despise
the way I am now, the negative way I
think and feel.
My ghost fills me with doubt that I can
succeed in life. She is constantly reminding me with age that I will fail so many
times, and there is nothing I can do about
it.
With all the torturous things she
reminds me of, there is a good side of her
that outshines the bad.
My ghost reminds me of my emotions
and things I have accomplished over the
years. She reminds me of all the times I
was told I couldnt do something, and I
proved them wrong.
My ghost influences me to make the
decisions I do every day to try to be a
better person.
My ghost is my past and some days it
is hard to cope with her, but I always have
to keep moving forward in life.
My ghost pushes me to challenge
myself, challenges me to have more
understanding of what I cant change, and
teaches me to love myself even when I
really dont want to.
In my future there will be many more
ghosts that I will have to face, and many
of them I may not like.
I am so lucky; not many people have
someone who will give you hope that
things change and life gets better than it
is now. She is constantly shoving me into
life and forcing me to experience so many
new things.
My ghost is inside me, and she is just
a voice telling me I can do anything I put
my mind to.
And I am so grateful to have this
young girl to remind me how sweet life
can be.
LAUREL GRAY, AGE 17, NORTHFIELD
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BURLINGTON TELECOM
Blackness
I walked silently through the doorway,

like a tiger stalking its prey, and moved
toward the sound coming from the food
closet downstairs.
I approached the door and grabbed the
handle, suddenly feeling the frost coming
up my arm like a glacier moving through
a valley. The room had suddenly dropped
30 degrees. I backed away cautiously
while maintaining full view of the door.
The light turned on within the closet, illuminating the rest of the kitchen, casting
my shadow behind me like a vast ocean.
Two bony claw-like hands rested on
the fine glass of the closet, and then a
head made of darkness, appeared in the
shining glass. The face and hands disappeared, but the light remained on.
I turned around so I could get back
upstairs and barricade myself in my room,
but my shadow wasnt the only shadow
moving in the room...
MATTHEW WILLS, AGE 13, EAST CALAIS
(Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/2275.)
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Ghost
Audrey Ely, Age 14, Barre
With my ghost
Leaves crumble beneath my feet.
The wind tickles my bare face.
Im lost, without a sense of direction.
Im with my ghost, though,
with my ghost.
He follows me around from place to
place.
Behind me, he lurks and protects.
Never lost in my mind.
I tumble from a sudden root,

cant keep hold of my helpless limbs.
Caught by a sailing mist of my ghost,
Im protected and free.
A faint squeal to the left.
Dont go through the hedge, he says.
I hear it too.
JAKE EHRET, AGE 13, EAST MONTPELIER
I feel a chill run up my spine;

I can feel somebody here with me,
but there is no one here.
Even though the warm fire is blazing,
my body is chilled.
A flash of light! I see it surely, but in a
blink of an eye, its gone.
I pick up the book that I had dropped on
the floor.
I try to read, but the words swirl together.
I try to rest my eyes, but they remain
open, waiting for that thing in the dark.
Then there it is, back again, maybe a little
closer, a little slower.
Could it be waiting for me, watching me,
trying to make me believe in things
unseen?
I put my hand against the cold glass, and
try to find that light in the darkness.
Then its there, behind the cool glass, in
the empty darkness.
I stare into its cold, dark eyes, and see
myself;
I see my soul reflected back at me.
And now I understand.
The ghost is me.
NORA DILLON, AGE 13, EAST MONTPELIER
A forest for all

BY WREN FORBES, AGE 11, FAYSTON
I race across the yard and through the
big red doors. Our barn is very old and
cobwebs hang down from the rafters. It
smells of sweet fresh hay. I see a small
raccoon hunched in the back of a dog
cage, its big brown eyes staring at me
from behind a water dish.
The next morning Dad and I load
the raccoon into the car and head off to
school. Dad had found the raccoon living
in a fallen tree after a storm. He thought
we should move it to a new home, away
from our hens. Right before we get to
school we pull into a small parking lot on
the other side of the road. Thats where
we let our raccoon free: in the Chase
Brook Town Forest...
Chase Brook Town Forest is really
quite a striking place. The first thing you
see is an old mossy bridge that stands
over Chase Brook and sways back and
forth when you walk on it. When I walk
through the forest I imagine the farmers
plowing fields with their horses and collecting sap from the old wrinkled maple
trees. On certain parts of the trail you can
peek through the leaves and see the remnants of a stone wall. On one side there
are grandfather maple trees, their limbs
growing straight out, so you know once
they had no competitors for the sun. On
the other side of the stone wall coniferous trees grow all squashed together, their
limbs reaching for the sky.
Its no longer used for farming or maple sugaring, but my town forest is important to the community because it supports
two public trails. The Mad River Path that
winds around the valley is for walkers and
runners. The Catamount Cross-Country
ski trail runs the length of Vermont. It is
especially important for the Catamount
Trail to have public lands so that it can
keep its trails open and maintained. But
one of the greatest things about my town
forest is that its right across the street
from the Fayston Elementary School.
I think it is really remarkable and
special that the Fayston School has 80
acres of public forest right across the
street. Imagine if instead of having recess
on a playground kids could have recess
building forts in the woods... Imagine
if one day a week kids spent the whole
day in the woods learning fire skills, tree
identification skills, and tracking skills.
Imagine if kids could learn stream ecology in Chase Brook and why and how it
flooded in Hurricane Irene. Imagine if as
part of the graduation ceremony the sixth
graders slept under the stars in the woods.
I think about all the ways Fayston School
could improve learning by using the
Chase Brook Town Forest.
THIS WEEK: Forest
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
present excerpts of two of the winning submissions to
the Town Forest Writing Challenge. Read more at
youngwritersproject.org/forestwinners.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
DISH CATERING
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
for your FREE subscription!
Madi Cohen, Bolton
Eaton Town Forest

BY FIONA STOWELL AGE 9, WARREN
When we walked through the meadow
to get into the Eaton Forest my friend
Gere kept talking about Rock Tree. She
said it was a rock that was good to climb
on. We were so excited that we started
running. We wanted to get there from the
start of the trail.
There was a skinny path that only one
person could fit on at a time. There were
blackberry brambles on the side so we
had to be careful to stay on it.
No, its a little farther. It is right after
THESE ARE TWO OF THE WINNING

SUBMISSIONS TO THE
TOWN FOREST WRITING CHALLENGE

Read all: youngwritersproject.org/forestwinners
the bridge made out of stone, Gere said.

Finally we came to the bridge. It was
made of giant rocks laid on top of each
other spanning a small brook. We walked
across the bridge and there was Rock
Tree! It looked like four or five trees
growing out of a rock. It was actually
one big trunk that had many large limbs
coming out of it. The first one was almost
exactly level with the rock. The next one
was a little smaller, but it was a good

footstep to get up to the next branch. The
third one was pretty wide and long and if
you held on to the other branch that was
right across from it, you could lean on
that second limb and it was a great seat.
Rock Tree was a pine tree that had nubby
dead branches growing out of it. They
were good for climbing. I tried one side
and Gere told me that the other side was
really great so I tried that one too. When I
got up, there was a nice place to lean on,
so I sat back and relaxed. Then we kept
walking and saw a big series of cliffs...
(Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.
org/node/1799.)
Bundle of love
The howling wind slaps my cheeks
like a bucket of cold water; it seems to
burn and cut into my pale skin.
My sandy blonde hair flies around me
as I clutch the small bundle of blankets
tightly in my arms.
I sigh and look up into the sky, which
is a dazzling picture of reds, pinks,
blues, oranges and purples.
The sky is clear, but I feel a snow
storm gathering in the freezing January
air and I know I must hurry back home.
I feel my eyes drawn to the small
bundle in my arms, my little girl. Small
and beautiful, her tiny face pink with the
cold, her short, brown curls covered by a
tiny, knit hat, embroidered with flowers.
I feel her little body squirming sleepily in my arms and I love her so much.
Her small, bright, blue eyes look right
back into mine, as if she is looking
inside my soul, feeling her way through
my thoughts and feelings.
I brush the fluffy, white snow off of
a flat rock and sit gracefully down onto
it, my gloved fingers fumbling with the
baby for a moment.
I wanted so badly for her to see this
sight: the mountains covered by a blanket of sparkling snow, the winter sunset
casting a glow over the trees and frozen
lake in the valley.
And now, Im here, captured in this
moment, just the small baby in my arms
and me.
In my mind I see the two of us coming back here each year on her birthday, growing up together, mother and
daughter.
Slowly, I stand up again and rock my
little bundle, humming a tune as I make
my way, step by step through the deep
snow, back to the road.
THIS WEEK: 35
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
present responses to the prompt, 35: Who will you be
when youre 35? Read more at youngwritersproject.
org, a safe, civil online community of writers.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
ADVANCE MUSIC

THE VOICE
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Twenty-two years
I cant see myself in sports
theyre not my forte,
nor famous
its too unlikely.
However, my mom thinks I can be
an illustrator or a writer.
Even then, I doubt it.
I cant see myself staying in Northfield
my whole life.
I know Ill get bored of here.
But
I cant see myself in a city.
Theres too much noise and not enough
time.
However, I will stay in Vermont
because I cant leave my mom, like my
sister did.
MAY LAMB, AGE 12, EAST MONTPELIER
READ MORE GREAT WRITING AT

& THE VOICE
I cant see myself clearly;

too much can change in 22 years
your likes, dislikes, friends, interests.
It can all change in 22 years.
In 22 years, I will be me
and thats all that matters.
SAMANTHA HAYS, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
THIS WEEK: 802
Vermont teens
Verde Montanas
Environmentally responsible neighbors
and teachers
Rugged individualism
Morse Farm maple creemees
Orange and red against a bright blue sky
Never-ending snow, ice, sleet, shoveling,
mittens, hats and Bogs
Teenagers tipping cows for Saturday
night fun
BRYNN BUSHEY, AGE 15, MONTPELIER
Arms that hold me

A nest of crinkled leaves shackles me to
the ground,
keeping me within arms reach
when I try to fly.
They let me soar just under the sky,
always watching,
protecting.
They say, be grateful
that I can fly,
when they hold me back.
The willow trees hold me when I cry,
sheltering me from reality,
afraid to let me go.
I am grateful,
grateful for the arms that hold me,
the wind that plays with me.
But they dont understand.
I have seen things no child has seen.
They try to mend my broken soul,
but the wind will soon lose its joy.
The river will run dry
as I age beyond my years.
The majestic trees will be cut down;
my childhood will burn to ashes.
And I will stand alone,
heavy from the burden of the world,
the wind lifting me gently in its once
playful arms.
And it will carry me up,
up, higher than I have ever gone before,
my wings beating slowly,
as the wind bears me past the sky,
sending me to the clouds,
where I can rest in peace,
my home until I start to mend.
But who knows how long it will take?

present responses to the challenge, 802: Whats it like
to be a teenager in Vermont? Read more great writing
at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
BURLINGTON TELECOM
YWP NEWS
SATURDAY, NOV. 7
Featuring Vermonts new Poet Laureate

Chard deNiord, above left, and 2015
Vermont Book Award winner Kerrin
McCadden, right.
FULL DAY OF WORKSHOPS

& RELEASE OF ANTHOLOGY 7
PHOTO OF THE WEEK

VERMONT COLLEGE OF FINE ARTS
MONTPELIER
To register and for more information:
Kevin Huang, Age 17, Burllington
I dont belong
Being a teen in Vermont is hard. We
are always defined in a certain way. We
are hippies who talk funny, worship
maple syrup, love cows, and we all think
20 degrees is T-shirt weather. I dont fit
into this profile.
I crave to be in the city near the noise
and the lights. In Vermont I feel like I am
a fish out of water. I am constantly trying to breathe in a place where I am not
meant to be.
All of my life Ive lived in Vermont,

yet I have never thought about staying
here. I hate stacking wood. I hate the
cold. I dont hunt. And I honestly am not
a big fan of maple syrup. I am the complete opposite of who I should be.
Vermont is a beautiful state, but I am
not meant to be fenced in like a cow. Until June, I will be dreaming about the life
I will be living, the life where I will feel
like I belong, a life away from Vermont.
LAUREL GRAY, AGE 17, NORTHFIELD
DONT MISS THE NEXT ISSUE

COMING NOV. 12!
THIS WEEK: Loyalty & Spooky
Flying as one
I am beside you, standing on the abyss
between confusion and things we cant
begin to fathom.
Your back is turned, eyes watching the
gulls play among those who have fallen.
They fly up,
suspended on your invisible wires,
before plunging down,
down toward the broken and the beaten,
lying face up in the mud,
eyes watching the stars.
They make a sharp dip up again,
screeching toward the sky.
I take your hand
when you dont even know Im there,
eyes still fixed on the helpless.
Your skin turns cold as you try to steady
your feet,
preparing yourself to fall or fly.
Then we jump,
flying as one above the gallows toward
which we dare not fall.
And its not till we reach the other side
that you feel my hand in yours,
lock my gaze in your deep brown eyes
filled with warmth,
a vortex that drags me in,
I, not daring to look away,
in case I should lose you.
And you sadly, so carefully, smile.
present responses to the challenges, Loyalty: Tell a
story where loyalty plays a key role; & Spooky: Write
a story that makes your readers scream!
ABOUT THE PROJECT


VT 05401.
PARTNERS
MEGAN HEBB, AGE 14, NEWBURY

Also: Meet Vermonts new
Poet Laureate Chard deNiord
PHOTO OF THE WEEK

MONTPELIER
Never-ending valley
(Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/

node/1775.)
SATURDAY, NOV. 7
THANKS FROM YWP
The fog was finally beginning to

lift. It had been about three days, Jenna
concluded, since she had been able to look
out over the valley at the mountain range.
For the last 11 years, she had wondered
what was so special about them. They
captivated her, drawing her in with their
mysterious beauty. Ever since Jenna could
remember, her mother always said, Dont
let me ever catch you going to the mountains. Not within five miles of them, as a
matter of fact. I mean it ... youll be very
sorry, young lady. Those words loomed
over her like a dark cloud.
It was early Tuesday morning. Jenna
had all of her morning work done and
had a break before her mom came back
in for her history lessons. She had been
homeschooled all her life and was always
curious about what it was like at a public
school. She didnt get out of the house
very often. Its not that she didnt want to,
but that she simply wasnt allowed ...
YWP NEWS
Spookys fears
Watched
You get that feeling again of being
watched.
When you look back, no ones there.
You speed up, trying to get home.
You know you should not go straight
home but you do not listen to that voice
in your mind telling you that.
You never do.
You hear echoing footsteps behind you.
You start running
even if the rain is thick and its dark.
Your brain tells you to call your mom.
You do not. Youre too scared to.
You see your house. Youre almost there.
You get home, close the door and lock it

and run up the stairs,
not even bothering with the back door.
You panic, hearing a door open.
You do your best to hide yourself.
You hear a voice. Your breath hitches.
You swear he said, Its me.
You hear footsteps.
You look up to see his smiling face.
You do not see anything after that
because its all black.
You shouldnt have gone home.
You should have called your mom, or better yet, the police.
You could have lived.
One day a grandfather got a new horse

for his granddaughter Annabelle.
The horses name was Spooky. She
was named that because she was scared of
everything, like limbs falling and electric
fences, wind and rain, thunder and lightning any sounds at all.
One day Annabelle asked her grandfather, Can you help me train Spooky to
not be scared of things?
Yes, I can, said the grandfather.
So they went on trails and the grandfather walked Spooky. After about six
months, Spooky was better to ride.
Now Annabelle rides through the
woods without Spooky being scared.
NATALIE MURPHY, AGE 9, TUNBRIDGE
JOIN YWPS
ONLINE COMMUNITY!
I am extraordinary
I am extraordinary.
I wonder why some people dont care.
I hear the stars twinkling.
I see the sun rise.
I want to learn about everything.
I am beautiful.
I pretend I am a princess; princesses are
more than a pretty face.
I feel the pages of my book between my
fingers.
I touch my best friends hand.
I worry about everyone.
I cry when I am happy.
I am a writer.
I understand words on my paper often do
not exist beyond.
I say I know what I am doing.
I dream that one day everyone will be
happy.
I try my best to do my best.
I hope it is worth it.
I am extraordinary.
THIS WEEK: General & 35

present responses to the prompts, General writing &
35: What will your life be like when youre 35? Read
more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
DARIAN PARTLOW, AGE 12, SOUTH

BARRE
The train that

never derails
My life when Im 35 will be something
monotonous the life of an everyday
desk jockey.
Ill find myself waking up next to the
same girl that I had married years before,
still finding her yet more beautiful than
the day before.
Ill jump into my car, drive the same
route to work, daydreaming of a better,
more exciting life.
As I pull into the lot, Ill say hello to
the same people I do every day, ride the
elevator to the fourth floor and greet the
same IT nerds Ive known for what seems
like my whole life.
As Im wasting away my life at the
same computer Ive slaved over for
almost eternity, Ill be counting down
the days, hours, even minutes until I can
finally quit this place for good.
But at the end of the day, when I can
roll up into my driveway and park the car
in the garage, Ill be able to enter the door
to my beautiful house and greet my kids
and wife.
Lifes all about the small things, the
bits that make everything sweet. Thats
what gets me through the day. Such is a
day in the life of 35-year-old me.
RUDY PORTER, AGE 17, NORTHFIELD
THE BAY AND PAUL

FOUNDATIONS
YWP NEWS

SATURDAY, NOV. 7
IMAGE OF THE WEEK

MONTPELIER
YWPS MONTHLY
DIGITAL MAGAZINE
ARE YOU A SUBSCRIBER?
ILLUSTRATION BY AUDREY ELY, AGE 14, BARRE

Audrey writes: When I drew this, I couldnt figure out what emotion was on his face.
I still cant.
Send your photos and illustrations to Young Writers Project for publication!
Submit them on your youngwritersproject.org blog or email them to Susan Reid at
sreid@youngwritersproject.org!
Find the positive

People always get the wrong impression about me, sadly. I am always judged
on my negative traits, instead of the positive ones.
Everyone always judges everyone; its
one of those things that wont change and
you cant do much about it.
But one thing people can change is
how they judge people, what they choose
to see.
When you judge someone, instead
of looking at the bad things, like most
people do, look at the good things; you
can always find good in everyone.
In all dark, there is some kind of spark
of light. There may even be a chance for
some kind of peace between people or
groups of people that clash.
The phrase, Dont judge a book by
its cover, doesnt tell the whole story.
Everyone judges a book by its cover,
but they can always look at the light
instead of paying attention to the dark.
If people were to look at the good in
me, they might find something that they
like and would enjoy being around me,
instead of looking at the bad and finding
things they dont want to be around.
JESSE MARBLE, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
THIS WEEK: Impressions

Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions of writing and photography from students
across the country. A team of staff, mentors and
students selects the best for publication. This week,
we present local students responses to the prompt,
Impressions: Has your first impression ever been
totally wrong about someone or something?
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
NATIONAL LIFE GROUP
SATURDAY, NOV. 7

PHOTO OF THE WEEK

MONTPELIER
You are, too

When they first meet me, they say Im
bossy.
Im not.
Or they say Im selfish.
Im not.
They say Im rude.
I dont think so.
Or dont care.
I do care.
Or Im emotionless.
Please stop.
They even say I ignore them.
When youre like this,
it hurts, you know.
When everyone around doesnt get you,
and then they say stuff like they do ...
Well, you dont know me.
You never will.
Sometimes, I hate you all
when you say these things like you dont
care,
or when you ignore me and talk about me.
It hurts, you know,
when you all say those things
because I am human. I make mistakes.
And I forgive you
because you are, too.
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
YWPS MONTHLY
DIGITAL MAGAZINE
LAST CALL! TOWN FOREST WRITING CHALLENGE

Vermont has more than 300 town forests and this year marks
the centennial of the legislation that started them all. The Vermont
Town Forest Centennial Celebration, in partnership with Young
Writers Project, invites students, Grades 3-12, to write about them.
PRIZES: 1st: $100; 2nd: $75; 3rd: $50. All winners will also
receive a 2016 season pass to Vermont State Parks and have their
work published. SUBMIT: Any genre: poetry, prose, essay, letter,
and no more than 750 words. DUE: MIDNIGHT, FRIDAY, OCT. 16
More info: youngwritersproject.org/forest15.
for your FREE subscription.
Well deliver it to your email
every month!
Old, red truck

Meredith hopped into her dads old,
red pickup truck and headed down the
bumpy, dirt road.
Meredith hated the thought of leaving
this beautiful state with its tall, emerald
trees and great, looming mountains. Leaving Vermont, she felt empty. She was going to Rhode Island to care for her aging
grandparents.
Suddenly she felt a rush of anger. Why
should she have to care for her grandparents? They were her fathers parents! She
slammed on the brakes, but the old trucks
body pitched forward over the wheels,
pulling the truck over. Meredith screamed
and put her hands over her head.
Kelly was getting worried. It wasnt
like Meredith to leave without saying
goodbye. So Kelly started the drive up
the dangerous dirt path. Soon, she started
seeing pieces of glass. Kelly drove faster.
On the side of the road there was an old,
red pickup truck. It was Merediths. Kelly
leapt out of her car and ran over to the
twisted mess. Meredith was lying dead in
the front seat.
Kelly screamed and pulled out her
phone to call 911 even though she knew
they couldnt do anything.
I heard about that young girls death,
said the sheriff to his colleague. So, what
was it that killed her?
I must say, replied the colleague, I
think it was her daddys old truck.
-- MEGAN ANDREW, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
THIS WEEK: Engine

challenge to listen to the sound of an engine and tell a
story around it. More at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
YWPS MONTHLY
DIGITAL MAGAZINE

JOIN YWPS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
ONLINE COMMUNITY!
AN INVITATION TO
ALL STUDENTS, GRADES 3-12
Sign up today for an account on
YWPs dynamic new website to share
your writing, photos, videos, audio
and more!
Its a safe, respectful place where
writers and artists take creative risks,
find the support of peers and mentors
and have fun doing it.
Trick or treat?
It was Halloween night and my parents were out with my siblings trick-ortreating. I decided I was too old, nearly
14. The doorbell had been ringing all
night. It was the same old costumes every
year, either princesses or superheroes.
Around 10 oclock, the doorbell rang
again. I opened the door, grabbing the
purple basket full of Snickers and Sweethearts. I looked around, the wind blew up
into my face, but there was no one there.
I closed the door, returning to the
couch. Again, the doorbell rang. I groaned
and stood up, grabbing the basket and
pulling the door open. No one was there.
A trick! I slammed the door but didnt
move, waiting for the doorbell to ring
again. It came a third time and I swung
the door open. Again, no one was there!
Confused, I left the door open. Who
could even run that fast? All of a sudden,
I heard an engine starting up and I saw an
old truck go fast down the road...
--AHLEAH LAWLISS, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
Dylan Sayamougankhua, Burlington
TOWN FOREST WRITING CHALLENGE

Vermont has more than 300 town forests and this year marks
the centennial of the legislation that started them all. The Vermont
Town Forest Centennial Celebration, in partnership with Young
Writers Project, invites students, Grades 3-12, to write about them.
PRIZES: 1st: $100; 2nd: $75; 3rd: $50. All winners will also
receive a 2016 season pass to Vermont State Parks and have their
work published. HOW TO SUBMIT: Any genre: poetry, prose, essay,
letter, and no more than 750 words. DUE: OCT. 25
More info: youngwritersproject.org/forest15.
DONT MISS IT!

NEXT SLAM: FRIDAY, NOV. 6!
Fish tale
This summer I went fishing in a boat at
the Route 2 bridge on Lake Champlain.
We were under the bridge and I was
using my pole with a Shakespeare reel
and 10-pound test line with a frog on the
hook.
I cast and hit the pillar and let it sink. I
was reeling in slowly and all of a sudden
my drag went crazy and a monstrous fish
jumped out of the water!
I started yelling, Net! Net! and I
started working the fish.
After 15 minutes we finally got the fish
in the net and in the boat.
It was a monstrous large mouth bass
that was 21 inches and 6 1/2 pounds.
Two casts later, the drag went crazy
again! This time, it was a 19-inch, 5 1/2pound large mouth bass!
Those two were the biggest bass Id
ever caught. But a 10-pound, 3-foot bowfin is the biggest fish Ive ever caught!
DANIEL BAROFFIO, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
THIS WEEK: Self-portrait

Each week, Young Writers Project receives submissions from students in Vermont, New Hampshire and
across the country. A team of staff, mentors and students selects the best writing and images for publication. This week, we present responses to the challenge
for a Self-portrait: Tell a story that you think shows
your essence. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
VERMONT BUSINESS
ROUNDTABLE
Hockey
Hockey defines me.
Two years ago, I was on a hockey team
with a lot of people from my winter season. We had a tournament in Burlington,
and there was one game that gave me the
confidence I have today.
We thought it was just a regular
hockey game, but when we got there, the
tournament had a competition that we
didnt know about.
It was a shooting competition and
all the teams were required to enter one
player to participate.
I told my coach that I didnt want to
do it, but he thought otherwise, and I was
the one from the team who was chosen to
participate.
We did a shoot-out and I was the first
one to go. If you missed, you were out.
I lasted through the whole competition
and I won. I was the best shooter out of
the tournament.
I was given a trophy and my team congratulated me. I was proud of myself.
It was probably one of the best feelings of my life.
Im not used to being better than other
players because I usually play on a boys
team, so it was really good to have that
feeling.
KAILIE FRENCH, AGE 13, NORTHFIELD
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
YWP NEWS & EVENTS

TOWN FOREST
WRITING CHALLENGE
Vermont has more than 300 town

forests and this year marks the centennial of the legislation that started
them all. The Vermont Town Forest
Centennial Celebration, in partnership
with Young Writers Project, invites
young writers to explore these forests
and write!
PRIZES: 1st: $100; 2nd: $75; 3rd:
$50. All winners will also receive a
2016 season pass to Vermont State
Parks and have their work published.
HOW TO SUBMIT: Any genre: poetry, prose, essay, letter, and no more
than 750 words. DUE: OCT. 25
For more information, go to
youngwritersproject.org/forest15.
YWPS MONTHLY
DIGITAL MAGAZINE
TEEN PHOTOGRAPHERS
Join youngwritersproject.org today and submit your
photos for publication on the site, in this newspaper and
YWPs digital magazine, The Voice!
More info: sreid@youngwritersproject.org
Well deliver it
to your email every month!
Dust
Maybe I idolized you,
built you up, up to be a person you never
could be.
But it still hurt
when you left me there
amongst the dirty, the tired, the worn.
You made me the person I am today,
and then left your own creation in the
dust.
But maybe youre still building me,
showing me humanity at its worst,
as it was always shown to you.
I loved you with all I had.
You were perfect,
the first glimmer of hope in the darkness.
You built me up out of a few dead scraps,
showing me that there was good in this
world
if you looked for it.
You were strong.
You protected me.
You were the one person I needed.
And you let it
all fall
to dust.
THIS WEEK: Mentor

and New Hampshire. This week, we present responses to the prompt, Mentor: Who has influenced
and encouraged you most in your life in or out of
school? Why was this person so powerful for you?
Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
THANKS FROM YWP

VT 05401.
JANES TRUST
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
Anime character
Although he is not real, I look up to
Yashiro Isana, a fictional character from
the anime K Project, a one-season anime
about discovering the truth.
Yashiro, in the anime, was being
chased for a crime he did not commit, or
as far as he remembered.
Yashiro has to prove his innocence, but
as it goes on, he discovers that there are
so many things pointing to him.
Yashiro figures out that his past memories were altered. He says to the person
helping him to prove his innocence, Regardless of who I was in the past or what
I did, I feel like me of the present should
take responsibility.
And thats why I look up to him; he
is willing to take responsibility for his
actions even if he doesnt remember if he
did them.
Its an important lesson that you should
take responsibility for your actions, a
lesson that every kid learns, but Yashiro
learns it the hard way. Hes a good person
and everyone should strive to be a bit
more like Yashiro.
I hope when I make mistakes as he did
I can take responsibility as he did.
YWP NEWS & EVENTS

TOWN FOREST
WRITING CHALLENGE

forests and this year marks the centennial of the legislation that started
them all. The Vermont Town Forest
Centennial Celebration, in partnership
with Young Writers Project, invites
young writers to explore these forests
and write!
PRIZES: 1st: $100; 2nd: $75; 3rd:
HOW TO SUBMIT: Any genre: poetry, prose, essay, letter, and no more
than 750 words. DUE: OCT. 25
For more information, go to
youngwritersproject.org/forest15.
Go to youngwritersproject.org for your

FREE subscription!
CHECK OUT YWPS

NEW WEB SITE
Dad
My dad is my mentor. He throws the
baseball with me so I can be good at it.
He helps me lead my calf and work with
chickens. He brings me places I want to
go, like sporting events.
My dad isnt my only mentor. I have

my mom, my grandma and my grandpa. I
think mentors are important because they
can help encourage people. They also
help people learn.
ZACHARY JOHNSON, AGE 9, TUNBRIDGE
A safe, respectful community
of writers and artists
who take creative risks
and have fun doing it.
The best years
THIS WEEK: Self-portrait & General
Sometimes I hear adults tell me

that high school will be the best years
of my life and
all I can say is,
Good god, I hope not.

prompts, Self-portrait: Show your essence; and General writing. Read more at youngwritersproject.org.
I can count my assignments

in the knots in my shoulders.
I can smell the not caring
in the tee-shirts on my floor.
I can taste the hurriedness
in my morning bagel.
I sure as hell hope
that real life is better than this:
Ive had friends ask me for pencil sharpeners
which is weird because they only use
mechanical.
Ive had friends turn to me with eyes just
too full
because their test fell a few points short
of their parents requirement.
Ive had friends show their true colors,
holding their own life hostage to keep me
talking to them.
Ive had my fair share of all-nights pulled
for a large project assigned with too little
work time.
Ive had my fair share of tormenting
thoughts
pestering me with possible failures.
Ive had my fair share of nights when I
have broken down
because I cant finish my math but if I
dont Ill fail but I just DONT KNOW.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
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VT 05401.
THE BAY AND PAUL

FOUNDATIONS
PHOTO OF THE WEEK
AVA KENDRICK, AGE 16, WAITSFIELD
TOWN FOREST
WRITING CHALLENGE

forests and this year marks the centennial of the legislation that started them
all. The Vermont Town Forest Centennial Celebration, in partnership with
Young Writers Project, invites young
writers to explore these forests and
write!
PRIZES: 1st: $100; 2nd: $75; 3rd:
HOW TO SUBMIT: Any genre: poetry,
prose, essay, letter, and no more than
750 words. DUE: OCT. 25
For more information, go to youngwritersproject.org/forest15.
THE CALVIN
WRITING CHALLENGE
So, you can imagine

why my stomach sinks a little
every time I am told that these will be the
best years of my life.
MORE GREAT WRITING
YWP NEWS & EVENTS
Isidora Bailly-Hall, Age 13, Burlington
My self-portrait
If who I am is really me,
can you take that?
If there are parts of me in pieces,
will you pick them up?
Or just leave me shattered?
I want to be real to you,
spit out the lies
and speak truth to you.
But is it the truth you really
want?
Or are the lies more comfortable?
Can you touch
the scars on my skin
and listen to me tell you:
deliberately self-inflicted?
Can you cope with
how close I came
to closing my eyes
how much I wanted
to finish breathing?
This is my past.
I am not always the smile
I keep on my face.
But sometimes
the smile reaches my soul
or does my soul reach my smile?
My scars are not me.
My hope is.
REBECCA HARRISON, AGE 19, EAST
RANDOLPH
Write to win $1,500 and a trip to

NYC to be honored at a reception!
Young Writers Project partners with the
Calvin Coolidge Foundation to promote
and help curate entries for the 2015
Calvin Prize for Vermont Youth.
This years theme: DO YOU THINK
HIGHER EDUCATION IS WORTH THE COST
TO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY?
Submit writing (fewer than 1,000

words) in any genre and address the
question above. DUE: SEPT. 25
More details: coolidgefoundation.org.
CHECK OUT YWPS

NEW WEB SITE
General writing from the summer in

any genre. Due Sept. 4
WRITING CHALLENGES
September - November 2015
Mentor. Who has influenced and

encouraged you most in your life -- in
or out of school? Why has this person been
so powerful for you? Alternate: PhotoBookshop: Write a story based on the
photo, Recursive Bookshop, by Alexandre Duret-Lutz. Due Sept. 11
Young Writers Project, an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them
with authentic audiences, encourages all writers, Grades 3-12,
to create an account on our new web site, youngwritersproject.org, and write to these and other challenges on the site.
Best work is published in this newspaper, in YWPs digital
magazine, The Voice, and other publications and sites.
warnings). OR Sound-Cheering: Click on

the audio link for this challenge on youngwritersproject.org and write the story you
hear, or use the clip and add more sounds
to create a sound story. Due Oct. 2
Photo-Bookshop.Recursive Bookshop, by
Alexandre Duret-Lutz. (Creative Commons
license. Must be linked and attributed.)
Self-portrait. Tell a story that you

think shows your essence, your most
important trait(s). You can write or use
visual media or sound. Or a combination.
Alternate: Sound-Engine: Click on the
audio link for this challenge on youngwritersproject.org and write the story you hear,
or use the clip and add more sounds to
create a soundscape (or sound story.) Due
Sept. 18
Impressions. Has your first impression ever been totally wrong about
someone or something? Tell a story about
a first impression that was wrong OR how
someone had the wrong impression of you.
How did it turn out? Alternate: PhotoNuclear: Write about the photo below,
Morning Glory, by David Blackwell.
Due Sept. 25
One-sided. Your character can hear

only one side of a phone conversation, but it sounds important; tell the story
using one-sided dialogue. (If you have
trouble with this, listen in on a conversation and create the other side. Also, go
to youngwritersproject.org and try a Lab
about creating dialogue). Alternate: 35:
Who will you be when you are 35? Will
you be living in your home state? What
will you be doing? (This is part of a project with medium.com.) Due Oct. 9
Forest15. Explore a town forest in

Vermont -- and write to win cash
prizes. All details at youngwritersproject.
org. Alternate: Spooky: Write a story that
makes your readers scream! Can be real or
imagined. Due Oct. 16
Winter Tales. What is your experience of winter? Tell a story in short

descriptive or narrative poetry or prose.
No clichs, please. The best will be
selected for presentation by the Vermont
Stage Company at its annual Winter Tales
production at FlynnSpace in Burlington
in December. Alternate: General writing.
Due Oct. 23
Photo-Nuclear. Morning Glory, by David

Blackwell, Morning Glory. (Creative Commons license. Must be linked and attributed.)
11
Sports. What sport would you create if given the chance? You could
explain the rules, the history, describe an
amazing match, tell why it was invented
... anything! Or, tell the story of an epic
sports moment you were part of. Alternate:
Embarrassed: Whats the most embarrassing (true) story that youre willing to
share? (If it involves someone else, change
the names to protect the innocent!) Due
Nov. 13
12
Sound-Footsteps. Click the audio

link for this challenge on youngwritersproject.org and write the story you
hear or use it to create a soundscape. Alternate: Monologue: Write a monologue
of a person who is troubled or conflicted
about something. Reach a resolution. Due
Nov. 20
13
Photo-Women: Using the photo

below,Three Different Reactions
Facing a Photographer, tell a story. Alternate: Foil: Create a foil or an opposite for
a character. Throw both characters into a
story. How do their differences conflict or
complement each other? Due Nov. 27
Photo-Ghost. My Ghost, Matt Wilson.

(Creative Commons license. Must be linked
and attributed.)
802. Whats it like to be a teenager

in Vermont? In words, images and/
or sound, describe your life in this rural
state. Share your best and worst stories.
Do you want to stay or flee? (This is part
of a project with medium.com.) Alternates:
Loyalty: Tell a story where loyalty plays a
key role, either in a heroic way or by getting your character in trouble (going along
with a friends bad idea or not heeding
10
Things. You have to move out of

your house suddenly and are allowed only one small box for your things.
What would you put in the box and what
do these things say about you? Alternates:
Fame: Write about a character who is suddenly famous. The paparazzi are outside
the window and the characters face keeps
flashing on the TV screen, but s/he has no
idea why! What happens? And why the
sudden fame? General: Send us your best
work of any category or type. Due Nov. 6
Six. Write a complete poem/story in

six words. (Write as many as youd
like.) Alternates: Photo-Ghost: Write a
story in response to the photo above, My
Ghost, by Matt Wilson; OR Art: Call
for visual artists! Send us your very best
photos and scanned art. Due Oct. 30
Photo-Women.Three Different Reactions

Facing a Photographer, by Pedro Ribeiro
Simoes. (Creative Commons license. Must
be linked and attributed.)
YWP NEWS & EVENTS

THE CALVIN
WRITING CHALLENGE
Write an essay and win $1,500

and a trip to NYC to be honored
at a reception! YWP partners with
the Calvin Coolidge Foundation to
promote and help curate entries for
the 2015 Calvin Prize for Vermont
Youth. This years theme:
DO YOU THINK HIGHER

EDUCATION IS WORTH THE COST
TO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY?
You may submit writing in any

genre essay, fiction, prose or
poetry. Your writing must address
the question in bold above and
must be fewer than 1,000 words.
Use the letters of Calvin Coolidge
and other Coolidge-related sources
to compare and contrast your situation today to that of Coolidge in
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